It's like you are screaming
by leuska
Summary: Inspired by a fanvid by Half0utLoud and pe4alhar. It was supposed to be easy. A visit to a suspect and asking him some questions. Just a regular job. But this particular visit turns out to be anything but such for Castle and Beckett.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N****:**Well hello there. It's been SUCH a long time, I know. But trust me, I was there, reading, writing, lurking, always having fanfics on my mind. Life happened though and although I started this story somewhere around February, I only now got to start posting it. The story is a multichapter and it's in my typical sucker-for-angst-and-drama territory. It takes place somewhere in season 5 or later, definitely after always, and it's been inspired by an awesome Youtube vid that wouldn't leave me alone once watching, so definitely go check it out on Youtube under the title:

**castle & beckett - it's like you're screaming but no one can hear... [AU with Half0utLoud] - By pe4alhar**

**Acknowledgments: **This story was inspired by a brilliant AU Castle/Beckett video by **Half0utLoud** and **pe4alhar**. Thank you for the wonderful inspiration as well as the permission to turn your awesome vid into a fic!

I want to thank my two wonderful betas, **Nik** and **ebfiddler**, for their wonderful help, ideas and support throughout writing this story. Nik, without you, I would probably never get the story finished. Ebfiddler, without you, I probably wouldn't be able to publish the story in a normal time. So THANK YOU both, girls.

**Warnings****:**This story is dark and angsty and has an overall rating of T, and I think that's correct throughout the whole story. But there will be a couple of chapters that may go over the regular T and up until M, all due to strong language and heavy graphic violence. I will mark any chapter that I will find "M-ish" in content, so you will know in advance. So far we are safe though, estimating that we will dive into those particularly murky waters around chapter 8. Don't worry though, I think nothing in this story will reach out beyond what we already say on the show itself.

_**It's like you're screaming by Leuska**_

**Chapter 1**

"So I'm behind the couch, and my legs are completely numb from crouching there for what must have been half the evening, waiting on Alexis to come home so I can get her back – you know, for last week – and all of a sudden, my _mother_ waltzes in, blabbering all about her new batch of students at the drama school. So I try to explain, you know, get her out of the way. But before I can do that, Alexis gets home! And I'm just standing there, right out in the open! Which _completely_ ruined my ambush!" His lips pull into a pout as he finishes his woeful account of the previous night, obviously still very upset that his brilliant, fool-proof plan of attack was so handily foiled by his own mother.

Beckett shakes her head as she slams shut the driver's side door of her cruiser, unsuccessfully trying to hide her amusement as she walks around the car to join him on the sidewalk. "Jeez, Castle, you are such a_ child_ sometimes. Scaring your own daughter like that just to get her back for whipping your ass at laser tag last week?" She shoots him a disbelieving look as they reach the driveway of the house they're headed for. "What are you, twelve?" There are no vehicles in the driveway, she notes as they walk towards the front porch. If the place is empty, they might have made the trip out here for nothing.

"_She_ started it _first_!" he protests indignantly, his fancy shoes causing the old floorboards to squeak as they move up the steps. "We agreed – no more slippery traps in the house. Especially after I broke my knee. _She's_ the one who broke the rules! She had to pay!"

Kate merely shakes her head again, doesn't comment further. What would be the point? Instead, she throws a wry glance over her shoulder at Castle, eyebrows raised. He just shrugs back at her, a boyish grin playing over his features. "Don't worry – it's far from over. I'll get her back somehow."

A chuckle escapes her, completely unbidden, and Castle's smile widens at the sound, his eyebrows waggling up and down. She has to stifle her laugh in order to finally concentrate on her job, rather than the ridiculously adorable man at her side.

Giving a final shake of her head at his antics, Kate returns her focus to the house. Curling her fingers into a fist, she raises her hand and attempts a solid knock, but the old wooden door recedes under the pressure of her knuckles, swinging open with a distinctive squeak of its un-oiled hinges, leaving a dark, yawning gap between its unkempt edge and the peeling doorframe.

Instantly, the mirth leaves her, all her senses sharpening immediately in the well-trained vigilance of a cop. She crouches slightly and draws her gun, gesturing for Castle to stay quiet. She pushes at the door again, this time with more force and prudence, widening the gap. No sounds come from within the house, so she carefully steps inside, still keeping as silent as possible.

The sight which greets her clues her in that this won't be the Q and A interview they were anticipating. The house is almost completely empty, shreds of old paper hanging from the walls. It's uninhabited and abandoned, probably has been for a fair amount of time. There are layers of dust covering both the floor and the once-white sheets which are draped haphazardly over the few remaining pieces of furniture. The space is otherwise bare, minus some medium-size boxes and a few large, wooden crates lying in one corner.

And yet, Beckett notes with both dismay and a strong feeling of foreboding curling tight in her gut, the house must have been visited recently. For one thing, the air inside is fresh – not stale or musty as one might expect upon entering an abandoned structure. Secondly, neither the boxes nor the crates in the corner are dusty, implying that they're a new addition to the environment. And the third, final, and most glaring piece of evidence is that there are numerous, clearly defined shoe prints running the length of the dust-covered floor.

Whether Kevin Warner actually lives here or not, Beckett can't tell, but one thing _is _certain: this is definitely not the regular home in a slightly rundown suburban neighborhood that they were expecting to find today. And from the looks of things – based on the unlocked door, the new crates lying around and Beckett's basic gut instinct – whatever purpose the house is being used for, it's not entirely legal.

She signals for Castle to keep behind her as she moves further into the house, momentarily wishing that they were both wearing their Kevlar vests, which are currently lying completely useless in the trunk of her car.

She curses silently, her eyes sharply scanning the room, assessing all of its possible entries and exits. She quickly considers but then rejects the option to call for backup. If their suspect is indeed here, that might just spook him into bolting before they could do anything to stop him. She also doesn't like the idea of lowering her gun and splitting her focus while she radios in. So she remains silent, but still pauses for a moment, listening, Castle's hot, heavy breath ghosting gently over the back of her neck.

The main room opens up into a wider space with an adjacent kitchen, divided by a bar on the right, while a corridor on the left leads further into the house, adorned with two or three doors which she assumes lead to bedrooms. Her gun trained in front of her, she sweeps the space with her eyes, searching for any sign of movement.

A heavy thud interrupts the silence, followed by the low sound of distant cursing. Her heartbeat quickens, her grip on her gun tightening imperceptibly. She was right – they're not alone.

She shoots a warning look at Castle, just for good measure, signaling for him to stay put while she goes to investigate the source of the noises. He seems to have grasped the seriousness of the situation, because he gives her a single, grim nod, his features radiating wariness.

_Good_.

Sounds continue to echo down the hall, apparently emanating from one of the rooms at the very back of the corridor. The noises interrupt the heavy stillness of the house, and she cocks her head to the side, expression intent, brow furrowed. It sounds like metal being dragged over a wooden floor, accompanied by heavy footsteps and labored breathing.

Kate carefully walks across the room and down the hall, slowly closing in on the door, inch by inch, the impact of her heels on the beams beneath her feet nearly inaudible in the wide-open space. It's a skill that she knows Castle still finds utterly fascinating, and despite the graveness of the situation, she can't help a tiny smirk from spreading across her face.

The door is just slightly ajar, the sounds becoming louder and clearer with each step she takes. She can see the outline of a man in the thin ray of light. He's got the approximate height and stature of their suspect – it could be him, but she can't be sure. She's nearly at the door now, the barrel of her gun level with the jamb. He has his back turned toward her, clearly intent on his work as he shuffles a few boxes and other indistinct objects from one wooden crate to another. She pushes one foot into the room, easing herself further inside, one inch and then two, her free hand carefully pushing at the door to widen the gap as she slides forward. She has both her eyes and her gun trained steadily on the man's back. It's their suspect, Beckett's sure of that now. Suddenly a glint from the window in the corner catches her eye and her focus zeroes in on it, her breath hitching in her throat when her mind registers what she's seeing. There on a wooden crate in the corner rests a sniper's rifle.

She freezes at the terrifyingly familiar sight, just for the barest fraction of a second. But that fraction of a second is too long.

The attack comes so abruptly that she doesn't even have the chance to recoil, or form any kind of shield to protect herself. The force of the impact slams her back into the doorjamb, and the door itself follows rapidly in her wake, its edge crashing into her chest with brutal force, pinning her between the opposing planes of wood. Her attacker presses his advantage, throwing his full weight against his hastily improvised and highly effective weapon, and excruciating pain flares throughout her body as the hard edge of the door compresses her sternum even further, digging deeper into her skin and wrenching the air from her lungs in a jagged, painful cry.

She gasps rapidly but can't seem to draw breath. The harsh rasps of her attacker mock her, echoing in her ears as he exponentially increases the pressure of the door, depriving her of the oxygen he's so greedily sucking down himself. She can't move, can't think; _shit_, she needs _air_. She's still clinging to her gun somehow, but she's so tempted to drop it, let it slip away in favor of getting this damn door _off_ of her, of getting just one, single, glorious breath. But in that separate, analytical part of her mind, the one that's still functioning – that's always functioning – she knows she can't do that, can't afford to lose her weapon, even if it's helping her not at _all_ in this particular moment.

So she settles for just one hand rather than two, retaining her gun in her right as her left rises swiftly to the door. Her palm slaps the wood, fingers scrabbling frantically for purchase, desperate to push back, to keep her from being split in half, to buy her some room, both literally and figuratively. God, she needs to _breathe._ But this guy's got at least 100 pounds on her, and her efforts aren't enough. Her muscles strain ineffectually as her lungs burn from a lack of oxygen, the pressure against her chest unbearable. Her vision starts to blur, fuzzing around the edges. Her fingers slacken on her gun. God, she can't black out – Castle's here, too…

And then before she knows it, the door's flying open again, a pair of strong, rough hands pulling her fully inside the room and then whipping her around with a jerk. She sails through the air like a ragdoll, and before she can even appreciate the fact that her lungs are once again working, she slams back-first into the side of a large, wooden crate. Her head hits the edge of it and she hears her own skull crack loudly upon impact, lights and stars bursting immediately behind her eyelids. The sharpness of the pain is blinding, forcing everything else out, but that focused, analytical part of her mind still manages to register the distinctive sound of a steel-toed boot kick, followed by the metallic clattering of a gun as it skitters across the floor. _Her_ gun.

_Fuck._

She grits her teeth and squares her jaw, forcing her eyes to open, to seek out her attacker. The man is there, standing right in front of her, with a gun pointed directly at her face. Her eyes hold his, cutting away for only a fraction of a second to seek out her own piece. His gaze follow hers into the dark corner where it lies and a grin spreads across his bearded face.

"Don't even think about it, sweetheart."

And fuck, she knows it's hopeless, knows that there is absolutely nothing she can do. Still, she thinks hard about how to get out of this, how to take this man down, weighing all of her options in lightning-quick succession.

And then a crash comes from outside in the corridor, the sounds of a scuffle, cursing and heavy breathing and a boyish yelp, and her eyes go huge.

_Castle._

There's a cry of pain, something heavy hitting the ground, then silence. Her chest fills with dread. The hand not cradling her skull shoots out instantly towards her attacker in an appeasing gesture, palm spread wide in front of her.

"You don't need to do this, Warner," she says evenly, despite her insides trembling with fear.

Their suspect grins, cocking his head to one side. "Earl?" he calls into the corridor, his eyes and gun never leaving Beckett. "I've got us an intruder."

"No shit! I got one of my own. Nasty bastard, caught me in the nose before I could-"

"Kate!" Castle's voice slices through the room, hoarse and desperate. Another thud against the wall, heavier this time, followed by a crunching noise and another anguished howl of pain and anger.

_No! God, Castle, just shut up!_

From just a single glance at her attacker, she knows that these aren't the kinds of perps they're used to dealing with. No, these guys are bigger and meaner and colder, and whatever kind of business they're into goes deeper. She has absolutely no doubt that they're more than capable and very willing to inflict serious harm if it serves their purpose to do so.

"Kevin," she starts anew, addressing Warner by his first name, "We _just_ want to talk."

A malicious glint appears in his eye. "Okay. Then tell me who the fuck you people are and what the hell you're doing in my house?"

Right. It's time to come clean. "I'm detective Kate Beckett from the NYPD, and I'm here to-"

"You're fucking _what_?" he shouts suddenly, something dangerous appearing in his eyes.

"The fucking cops!?" she hears from the hallway. The other man – Earl – seems just as upset, his voice acquiring a distinctively fearsome quality.

"Listen," Kate starts anew, "we just want to talk, alright? Nobody needs to get hurt."

But even she can feel her calmness quickly slipping away. This is a situation even Castle won't be able to sweet-talk them out of. These guys aren't simple robbers caught in the act of going through their loot. No, there's something else happening here, another kind of operation that she and Castle have managed to wander right into the middle of. A brief look at the contents of the crates only confirms her suspicions. _Damn it._ They're loaded with _guns_. And not just any kinds of guns either. These are military-issue assault rifles – M14s, M16s, even a few M82 army sniper rifles. _Active _service weapons, not obsolete pieces or out-of-commission models. This goes beyond simple black market weapons racketeering. This is huge.

"Talk? You'll sure as hell talk, sweetheart!" Warner spits out, the sudden anger in his voice sending a chill up Beckett's spine. "Trust me, you're gonna sing like a bird once my boss gets his hands on you." He reaches down and grabs her violently by the neck of her jacket, pulling her up into a standing position with surprising strength, using just a single hand, while his other holds the gun steady, now trained right against her temple.

"Earl?" he shouts into the corridor. "We're taking them with us."

Warner produces a cord from somewhere, forcing Kate to turn her back to him before he binds her hands together. Beckett wonders whether she should seize her chance and initiate a fight now, while her attacker is otherwise preoccupied. But with a sinking heart, she has to admit that she lacks the courage. There are two of them, and God only knows how many others might be lurking nearby. Strategically, it wouldn't make sense. That's what she tells herself. Although if she's honest, there's actually an even greater driving force behind her decision than just mere strategy. Because Castle's probably being held at gunpoint right now, god knows where but out of her sight and a leverage. And if she attempts an escape, the other man might pull that trigger. Despite her risky nature and her disregard for her own safety, she would _never_ risk Castle's life like that. Never.

So she allows Warner to tie her up, and she goes willingly, her heart hammering painfully in her battered, abused chest. The man pushes her out of the room and into the corridor, where her eyes instantly seek out Castle, but the other man must have moved him someplace else, because he's nowhere to be seen. For the briefest of moments, she feels raw panic flood her veins, the dread of being separated from him seizing her up, the fear that Castle's being taken away, that she won't see him, won't be with him.

Her captor walks her towards the rear of the house and Beckett realizes there must be a discreet back entrance that's obscured by a garden wall, shrubbery, garage or a toolshed of some sort, so that the neighbors cannot see the comings and goings; a clever solution for men with shady operations wanting to enter and exit their base of operations in the suburbs inconspicuously. Before that thought can unroll any further, however, Kate nearly stumbles with relief. He's here. Castle's still here. She can see him now, or at least most of him. She wants to see his face, wants to make sure he's okay, but a black hood is pulled across her partner's head, and she has no idea what condition he's in. She battles down her frustration at that, along with her anger; at least they're still together.

And he's standing on his own, which is a good sign, next to the other man – _Earl, was it?_ He looks completely different than Warner, which for some reason, surprises her. He's clean-shaven and far younger, probably in his mid-twenties. He's already managed to tie Castle's hands in a similar fashion as Warner did hers, though Castle's are tied at the front of his body rather than behind his back.

Her eyes scramble to assess her partner in the time she has available, her gaze frantically roaming his body as she looks for any signs of visible injuries. But before she sees much of anything, a dark heavy hood engulfs her head as well, shrouding her vision as everything around her goes black.

She can't see a thing – the hood is made out of extremely thick, coarse material. Her breathing quickens instinctively at the sensation, the still-fresh memory of her last struggle for oxygen racing swiftly through her mind. She feels hands on her, sweaty fingers roaming her body. She tenses, feeling utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way she rarely allows herself to be, the ties and the blackness of the hood adding to the feeling of utter helplessness. But the deft fingers skating across her have obvious purpose, skillfully patting her down until they find what they seek: her phone and then her badge.

_Well, fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

They are shoved into the back of a van, or at least Beckett suspects it's a van; she can't be sure. She lands awkwardly, her arms twisted behind her, hands protesting as the full weight of her body crushes them into the hard metal floor. She hears Castle thrown in beside her, and she twists reflexively in his direction, rolling onto her left hip and shoulder, easing some of the pressure on her upper limbs. Thankfully, neither of their attackers is riding in the rear of the vehicle with them, a fact confirmed by the tandem slam of both the passenger and driver-side doors. The angry roar of the engine kicks in suddenly, its harsh vibrations thundering through the metal framework of the vehicle, jarring her to the bone. She shakes off the discomfort, and listens carefully, ears straining. Judging from the muted voices up front, Kate thinks it's safe for her and Castle to talk, just as long as they can keep it quiet.

"Castle," she whispers into the dark, her voice cracking slightly over his name, her throat dry and clogged with fear. "Are you okay?"

There's a grunt, the sound of something moving - or rather shuffling - nearer to her.

"Yeah, I'm good."

His reply comes from far closer than she originally anticipated, and it makes her jump. Suddenly, something warm and solid presses up against her side and she can feel the jumble of his thick fingers fumbling across her thigh. They come to rest over her knee in a gesture of comfort.

"Are you?" he asks with his voice spread thin, giving away his concern and more than a little fear.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replies despite the heavy throb in her head and the killing ache that is branching out in flaming waves of heat and pain from her chest.

"What the hell was _that_?" he asks in an urgent whisper as the van speeds through midday traffic. "Who _are_ these guys and what do they want with us?"

"I don't know, but it doesn't look good. The room I found Warner in was full of guns. I think we walked into something big, Castle." She can't help but let out a surprised little yelp and then a moan as the van brakes abruptly, causing her to crash into Castle's solid form, his broad chest cushioning her impact but still causing her aching sternum to flare with pain.

"Sorry," she murmurs, but doesn't pull back. Despite the scratchy fabric draped over her head, she can still feel the solid plane of his chest, and her head comes to rest almost automatically in the crook of his neck, even though the position proves to be more than a little awkward. Castle doesn't seem to mind, however; his grip on her knee merely tightens.

The van lurches into movement again, the bare metal shaking beneath them, and she suppresses another groan. Her head is pulsating with pain, her chest and back are aflame, and the man behind the wheel's obviously a complete traffic maniac. She really wishes some of her patrol cop buddies would notice his driving – which is clearly a criminal offense in and of itself – and pull him over. But of course, they don't have that kind of luck.

They hit another bump in the road and the back of the van rises roughly into the air, tossing them in too many directions to count. Its jerky, uncoordinated movements are making Kate seriously sick. She grits her teeth and presses her face against Castle's shoulder again, hard, willing the nausea to subside.

"Hey." She hears his muffled murmur, so incredibly close to her ear despite the double barrier of thick fabric separating them. "You sure you're okay?" he asks, another layer of concern washing over her. It's heartbreaking sweet, and under different circumstances she'd either kiss him for it or tease him mercilessly for being so obviously worried.

But this isn't the time or place for either of those options, so she sucks in a quick breath and hastens to reassure him. "Yeah, I'm fine." She's not. She feels like absolute shit. "Guy drives like a maniac, that's all."

He nods a bit too emphatically in agreement, and suddenly Kate has the distinct feeling that somewhere out there, underneath that dark hood of his, he's grinning. Clearly he's come up with something clever to share – he's just waiting for an opening. "What?" she asks, some of the strength returning to her voice.

"Nothing," he hums. "It's just that now at least, you'll be able to appreciate _my_ wonderful driving skills."

She snorts at that but feels a smile tug at the corner of her lips in spite of herself. "Don't flatter yourself, Castle. I'm still not letting you drive my cruiser."

"Damn," he grumbles, and she can just imagine the slight pout of his lips right now, barely masking the twinkle in his eyes. She huddles a bit closer, and a comforting silence stretches between them as they continue to shift with the van's erratic movements.

"Do you think the guys will be looking for us soon?" he asks after a while, his voice grave once again. She pushes even further into him, drawing as much reassurance as she can get, striving to give it in return.

"I don't know. They knew where we were heading and if we don't call in after a certain time, they'll get suspicious, yeah. But…we're on the move now." She hesitates. "There's no way of telling whether they'll actually know where to look."

Her answer is met with silence. Then, after a long moment, she feels his tied hands brush once again along her leg, his fingers coming to rest over her thigh as his thumb starts drawing slow, soothing circles upon her jean-clad skin.

"A least we're together," he murmurs against the crown of her head. She feels the press of his lips there briefly before he dips his face lower, nuzzling her cheek through the coarse, black fabric of their hoods. He's completely unaware of the fact that his simple words have completely choked her up.

Because despite their predicament – despite the dangerous, life-threatening situation they now find themselves in – a small, selfish part of her is immensely thankful for that very same thing.

xxx

The ride doesn't take too long; Kate estimates no more than half an hour, although there's no way of knowing for sure. They spend the time talking in hushed whispers, spinning various theories about their kidnappers and what they're up to, if not for the sake of escape, then at least to keep their minds occupied. It's definitely better than thinking about what lies ahead, or dwelling overlong on their increasing discomfort, which is rapidly becoming unbearable.

Both Kate's head and her back thrum with fresh hot pain, and her shoulders are killing her, stiff and aching from their unnaturally forced angle. The blood flow to her hands is limited as well, and she can barely feel her fingers, despite the dull, throbbing pain which runs down her arms at regular intervals. What she wouldn't give to roll her shoulders freely for just a moment. And her legs aren't in much better shape, both having fallen asleep due to lack of movement. She'd tried to keep them limber during the ride, on the off-chance that an opportunity for escape might present itself at some point, but no such luck. And now she can't even really feel them, her circulation pretty much non-existent. So much for that escape attempt.

Castle, although trying to play it cool, probably isn't in much better shape. His frame is huge, after all, and the van's surprisingly narrow. With both their heads covered and their hands tied, they've had a hard time navigating the tight space, wanting to remain close yet trying to avoid tumbling over their own or each other's limbs. His shoulders are probably okay, since his hands are tied in front of him, but the rope his captor used must be bound extra tight, because she can feel the growing coldness of his fingers, even through the denim of her jeans. The movements of his digits over her leg have grown considerably less coordinated, too, the loss of blood flow to his hands obviously leaving them stiff and numb. Still, he hasn't complained, not once, and that more than anything leaves Kate feeling unsettled. Because if he isn't griping, then he's _definitely_ hurting.

Suddenly the van comes to a stop with a sharp jerk, the engine cutting off abruptly. The slam of the front doors causes a shiver up Kate's spine. They've arrived at their destination, wherever that is, and now they're going to be moved again, yet one step further from their colleagues, one step further from being rescued.

She can feel Castle's presence at her side, his warmth seeping first into her skin, then deeper, into her muscles and bones. She lets his closeness anchor her as she takes a couple of deep, steadying breaths, trying to gather herself together, find her balance again. This is not good, she knows that, but so far, nothing has been done to them, not really. And maybe, just maybe, there's still a chance for them to get out of this unscathed.

Her mind flies to Ryan and Esposito and she wonders whether the guys already suspect something is off. Maybe Gates' strict policy of calling in their locations before going out into the field, a policy they've all bitched about loudly and often, isn't so bad after all. It shouldn't take the precinct too long to start looking for them, and at least they'll know where to start: at Kevin Warner's house.

But until then, she and Castle are on their own.

A rush of adrenaline surges through her at the approaching footsteps, her covered eyes making it that much more difficult to stay concentrated and focus. She feels Castle lean into her suddenly, hover over her, feels what must be his cheek pressing against the top of her head.

"Whatever happens, Kate, I'm here. We're in this together," he whispers in a rush, his voice tight with fear and barely suppressed emotions. But before she has time to react in any way, to offer some comfort back to him, the door of the van opens and his body's gone from her side in a flash, his heat deserting her, leaving only cold and ache and panic in its place.

Kate takes a deep breath then winces as a pair of rough hands grabs her next, yanking hard on her over-strained shoulders. She clenches her jaw against her own ragged cry of pain as she's half hauled, half dragged out of the van, her agonized muscles screaming in protest as she clumsily attempts to regain some semblance of control over her aching body. After a moment, though, none of that matters. A cooling flood of relief washes over her, sweeping the pain into the background, because she can already feel Castle's presence back at her side. Her heart leaps with strength, with surprising hope.

_At least they're together._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Their hoods remain firmly draped in place as their captors usher them quickly through a narrow entrance – "Careful, old man, there are steps," one of them sneers when Castle stumbles and nearly falls behind her, his grunts and heavy breathing close to her ear – and into some kind of corridor. Kate can't see a thing thanks to the hood, but she tries to concentrate in spite of that, tries to identify where they might be by using her other senses. Touch is pretty much useless, given the tied-up state of her hands, and the same goes for smell, thanks to her highly fashionable yet utterly stifling black headgear. Which leaves sound. She strains her ears, but she can't make out much. She knows the van isn't in any sort of parking structure, or private garage, because they were definitely out in the open for that brief moment before entering wherever the hell they were now. But whether that 'out in the open' was a hidden backyard or a parking lot or a deserted alley, she can't tell.

And now they're inside, inside somewhere big. The distinctive echoes of their shoes reverberating into the distance tell her they must be somewhere with a whole lot of empty space. A warehouse maybe. She doesn't like this. Not at all.

Warehouses are for mobsters and well-equipped criminals; for dirty deals and illegal transactions; for anonymous gunshots and unidentified bodies.

They walk quite a distance before another sound starts to fill the void around them, joining their ragged breathing and their slightly stumbling feet – voices. They grow louder and more distinct from somewhere up front; male voices, debating or arguing in angry tones. There's also the definite sound of some large, metal objects being moved about, scraping over the concrete. A crash and a loud curse followed by a round of wild laughter sends another chill down Kate's spine.

There must be at least four more of them. Which means she and Castle are outnumbered at least three to one. Shit. This is bad.

"What the fuck?" yells a single voice from somewhere in front of them, the level of anger rising as he continues to speak. "What did you do this time, Warn? Who the hell are these people and why the fuck are you dragging them into _my_ warehouse?"

A furious, violent shove into her back sends Kate flying forward as her captor answers. "We caught them snooping back at my place. This one," he shoves Kate again, and the heavy thud against her back knocks her off-balance and causes her to stumble, enough for Castle to voice his protest, "drew a fucking_ gun_ on me."

They must have reached the other group of men now, because Warner grabs the back of Kate's jacket to stop her from continuing any further.

"Why the fuck didn't you just shoot them?" asks the new guy, annoyance and wariness in his tone.

"Because of _this_."

Something metallic clatters noisily to the floor, the echoing sound swiftly followed by a loud whoosh and the scratch of rough cloth sliding across Kate's face, and all of a sudden, there's light again. She blinks a couple of times, the abruptly sharp return of illumination, even in the dimness of the space surrounding them, momentarily assaulting her, sending pins and prickles of pain shooting up her ocular nerves. She blinks furiously again, narrowing her eyes to keep out as much light as possible before slowly taking in her surroundings.

There are five new men standing in front of her. Three of them look like nothing more than workers, just here for the manual labor, to do what they're told, follow orders and get the job done. They keep their heads down for the most part, seeming to grasp that the less they see and know, the better. But the other two, the ones standing a bit to her right and glaring daggers at her, they're clearly the ones who are in charge, actually managing this business, whatever that is. All five men are packing iron, though, handguns tucked haphazardly into their leather belts, and all five look more than a little pissed at the disruption she and the rest of her group have caused.

Her eyes flick quickly to the left and right. Stacks of boxes. Piles of crates. Row upon row of shipping containers. Dozens of them. Metal and wood and even aluminum. All of which are brimming with various types of guns.

So she'd been right. They'd managed to stumble right into the middle of a massive arms trafficking operation. Great. Fantastic. Just wonderful.

She bites her lip, hard enough to draw blood. Her eyes fly to Castle's, standing on her left, his expression disclosing the same level of awareness at their current situation.

_They are screwed._

"FUCK!"

Her gaze tears from Castle's then, swinging back to the man in front of her, wondering why

he's so riled up. Her eyes quickly follow his to the ground, to the various objects lying there at his feet. Her heart stops, then restarts on a quick beat, adrenaline slicing through her body.

Their phones and her gun. And her badge.

The man takes a lurching, violent step in their direction, towering menacingly. "They're fucking _cops_?" he growls, teeth gritted.

"_She_ definitely is," Warner says, pointing his grimy finger at Kate. "I don't know about him, though," he finishes, jerking his head in Castle's direction.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kate can see some stupid, smartass remark already forming on Castle's lips, but she manages to beat him to it, just barely.

"I'm an NYPD detective, and _he's_ my _partner_."

Beckett knows her emphasis on that last word isn't lost on Rick. His eyes widen slightly but her look begs him not to press the issue, to just go with it.

"Then where's his fucking badge?" demands the now-obvious leader suspiciously.

"None of your damn business," Castle shoots back in a gruff, arrogant tone. His attempt at butching up backfires, earning him a hard smack across the face from the leader, the force of which makes Kate wince.

To his credit, though, Castle doesn't let out a single sound of protest.

"Probably deserved that," he mutters to Kate, sending a tiny grin her way, which comes across more like a painful grimace. His eyes meet hers and she has to look away from the intensity of what she sees there. Despite his false bravado, she can clearly read the fear and despair etched into his features. She directs her gaze back at the man standing in front of her, the one who seems to be making all of the important decisions around here.

He's gone silent, as if slapping Castle has satisfied his anger for now. He contemplates them, sizes them up. She wonders whether she should speak, try to talk her way out of it, or if it's better to hold her tongue. She decides to go with her gut; something tells her that keeping her mouth shut right now is the best course of action.

"Well, we sure as hell can't keep them in the warehouse. We still have a lot of work to finish here," the man says, seemingly dissatisfied with the outcome of his thinking. "Let's put them in transition for the time being," he decides.

Kate doesn't like the sound of that at all. _Transition._ She desperately hopes it's some kind of code name for a place, rather than an actual state of being.

"And just to be sure, let's also drug them," the leader adds with a shrug of his shoulders, the decision made seemingly on a whim as his hand scratches over the stubble on his chin. "We'll leave it up to Boss to decide what to do with them."

_Wait, what? Boss? This isn't him?_

He turns to two of his lackeys. "Frank, Carl – bring me some of the stuff Bobby dropped off last night. At least we'll have the opportunity to test whether it's as pure as Coach promised. Then drag their sorry asses to transition. And there's no need to be gentle," he adds with a grin.

Kate can feel panic rising in her chest as she exchanges a quick glance with Castle before her eyes return to their captors, her gaze following Frank – _or is it Carl? Hell, who gives a fuck anyway?_ – as he shuffles around a large pile of crates and out of sight. Kate struggles to suppress the shiver that tries to rock her whole body when the man comes back with a large, single syringe and a vial of clear liquid. At least the stuff _looks_ partially legit – there appears to be something like dosage info printed on the side. It may very well be a stolen pharmaceutical, rather than some experimental, back-alley drug concoction. But, as with so many other things that have happened today, there's no real way of telling.

The leader follows Kate's stare to the syringe and then back, a malicious grin spreading across his face as he observes her reaction. "Hey, you don't mind sharing the needle, do you?" he asks, his voice dripping with fake concern. "Because I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything."

Kate forces herself to meet his gaze, giving him nothing in response to his taunt, absolutely no reaction, even as her insides churn. He watches her for a moment then claps his hands together loudly, the echo reverberating in the open space, his cheerfulness mocking her. "But, you know, I've heard you cops are _all_ about sharing, especially where your _partners_ are concerned, right?" Kate keeps her face carefully blank, eyes focused upon his, unwavering. He takes a step towards her, his gaze dropping casually from hers, eyes tripping languidly down the length of her body and then slithering back up. "Tell me, what _else_ do you like to share?"

"Son of a bitch!" Castle lunges forward angrily, but he's stopped before he even really starts, easily restrained by Warner's buddy behind him. Earl jerks him back, the force of his pull nearly tearing Castle's suit jacket, and before Rick can react, Earl delivers a sharp, unerring blow to the writer's gut. Kate's heart jerks as Castle doubles over, wheezing. Her eyes whip from his bent form back to the leader, who hasn't moved a muscle.

His grin widens as he turns to watch Castle, a predatory look in his eye, and despite Warner crowding her warningly from behind, it takes everything Kate has not to attack the arrogant bastard right then and there. "Don't worry," the leader reassures Castle, patiently waiting until he recovers enough to look back up into his smiling face. "There's plenty for both of you. As I said before, I'm sure she won't mind sharing."

Castle glares daggers at him, but the man's already returned his eyes to Kate. She holds his stare for a long moment then looks deliberately away, swinging her eyes to the mystery vial instead, steeling herself for what's ahead. She's already accepted this – she knows there's no escaping it.

Castle, however, seems to believe otherwise. "No!" He squirms against the restraining grasp of his captor, still not willing to back down, which only succeeds in him being jerked even further away from Kate. She looks at him again, imploring him to just be quiet. The last thing she wants is for him to go another round as a punching bag. There's nothing he can do, not right now. God, he's just making it worse – if he doesn't stop, these assholes might just decide it's not even worth the effort of keeping the both of them alive.

The man with the syringe ignores the struggling writer and begins walking towards Kate, and with a choked feeling of dread, she realizes that she's going to be first. She takes a deep breath, fighting off the last-minute stab of panic.

"No, wait!" Castle exclaims suddenly, putting his bound hands up in front of him in a pacifying gesture, clearly switching tactics. "Guys! There's no need to drug us, alright?" He shoots a desperate look at her, his eyes begging her to help him out. "We'll be on our best behavior, scout's honor. Perfectly cooperative, even without…_that_." He tilts his head in the direction of the vial, which is currently being speared by the needle, the liquid drawn up smoothly into the syringe.

"That?" the leader asks in a sugary voice, clearly enjoying Castle's frantic pleas. "That's just a precaution. Nothing to worry about, you'll see." He grins again and waves for his colleague to proceed. The man compresses the syringe slightly, and a jet of fluid arcs through the air. Kate watches it almost clinically. There's no way out of this.

She closes her eyes as the man stops in front of her, waiting for what feels like an eternity. And then she feels the sharp prick of the needle as it's stabbed roughly into the side of her neck. She can hear a scuffle somewhere nearby, a sort of muted brawl going on. Her eyes flutter open and she turns her head just in time to witness the last of Castle's futile attempt at a fight against the men holding him, sees the raw panic in his eyes as he realizes how very terrifyingly real this all is.

She doesn't have time to respond to his panic, though, or reassure him. Her head's already spinning.

"Kate," Castle calls urgently, and all she can think about is wanting to smack him for the obvious level of vulnerability that he lets seep through, the deepest level of intimacy and concern that he's revealed by uttering that one, single word. The idiot will give them away, will let their captors know exactly how much they mean to each other just by saying her name like that, like a plea and a prayer and a promise all at once. Then again, maybe that's just her. Maybe it's just the way his voice always carries over her, caresses her in all the right places, in all the right ways to make her feel alive. Feel loved.

His voice comes from somewhere far away when he calls her name again and it's so strange. She knows he's standing right next to her, so why does he sound so distant? Her legs suddenly give out, buckling beneath her. There is the shortest moment of alarm when she realizes she's falling, and she mentally prepares herself for the pain of the impact, for the slam of her body against the ground, but that moment never comes. Instead, heavy darkness engulfs her, swallowing her whole.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Her head feels thick. Swollen. Even the all-consuming blackness is spinning, the dark circles going round and round and round.

Then there's the touch, the feeling of something soft and smooth gliding down her cheek, running circles there. A familiar hand, an even more familiar caress. The blackness starts to clear, the fog slowly, painfully, lifting from her mind.

Her eyes finally open. The light is barely there, and yet she has to squeeze her lids shut tight against the onslaught of it.

"Easy," comes a gentle command from somewhere over her head. "Just take it easy." The voice is close, far too close, but she's not afraid. On the contrary – she basks in its familiar lilt. "I've got you."

She keeps her eyes closed, willing the queasiness in her stomach to subside. It's not the time or the place to let the nausea rule.

She takes a deep breath. Then another.

In and out.

Slow.

There. It's already better.

She finally dares to open her eyes again, waiting for them to adjust to the dimness of the room. She sees his face immediately, staring at her from above, so close, a tiny, hopeful smile playing over his lips.

Her gaze hold his for the briefest of moments, then wanders past him to scan the room, her head bobbing faintly back and forth in his lap.

_Oh._

She's lying in his lap, or at least her head is, along with the tops of her shoulders. Beneath her back she can feel cold, solid concrete biting uncomfortably through her clothes and into her spine, and it's not much better where her legs are concerned.

She feels so weak, so feeble, her mind still too hazy. She hates this, but she can't do a thing to change it at this point.

So she continues to breathe, the only option she has right now.

Her eyes come to meet Castle's again, a silent question shining through. He's sitting with his legs outstretched in front of him, his back supported by a concrete wall. He wears a somewhat rueful smile, his hair ruffled and his face fatigued, the top buttons of his dirtied shirt popped open. He looks beyond tired, looks bone-numbingly weary. His bottom lip is cut, and one of his cheekbones is already swelling blue, but his hand is still there, against her cheek, warm and solid, soothing the ache in her limbs.

"Hey," he whispers, his smile widening. And just that one, quiet word makes her head pound.

She groans, wondering whether it's prudent to sit up yet. She tries to move, just squirms really, and instantly she can feel her stomach roiling. So she stays put, deciding that for the time being, she'll need to seek the necessary answers from her partner, rather than figuring them out for herself.

"How long was I out?"

He sighs, a strong, deep sound filled with dissatisfaction. "I have no idea. I woke up about thirty minutes ago maybe, but I'm not sure how long we were out before that." He lifts his hand, showing her his empty wrist. No watch. They must have taken it while he was unconscious.

She tries again to sit up, but another round of nausea pushes her back into him once more.

"Hey," he soothes. "Take it easy." She can feel his hand back against her cheek. It feels nice, anchoring her somehow in this moment with him. "Whatever they gave us must have affected you more than me." There it is again, that spark of uneasiness in the back of his eyes. He quickly masks it, hides it away. "My bulky size probably worked in my favor for once," he jokes, trying to smile at her, lighten the mood. But his concern shines through anyway.

She remembered that the boys had given him a bit of a hard time not so long ago, about his getting _bigger_ over the course of the past few months, his figure expanding to include more than a few extra pounds. "_Must be loooove_" they'd teased in their united, sing-song voices. She'd grinned good-naturedly, nodding along with them as she poked her finger against Castle's chest, watched his childish pout grow. And then she'd leaned into him and dropped a simple, lingering kiss on his cheek. _"Must be"_ she'd agreed nonchalantly, a small smile teasing the corners of her lips as she met his surprised gaze. The dazzling grin which had lit Castle's features at her words was priceless, and Ryan and Esposito, after unleashing their mandatory looks of disgust at the couple's over-the-top cuteness, had quickly retreated.

She knew Castle was a bit sensitive about it, but she loved his big frame, his broad shoulders and his wide chest, the way he enfolded her so easily, so protectively, within his arms, even with the few extra pounds on his ribs. And truth be told, he _does _look far better off after being drugged than she does. She still feels so groggy, so heavy and clumsy, a deep chill and a sharp ache residing deep in her bones. She nearly shivers with cold, can't seem to find even a hint of warmth, despite the fact that he's draped his jacket over her body. In short, she's a wreck. And he's not.

Huh.

Maybe she just needs to walk it off. But not right now. Maybe in a little bit, but not right now.

"Where are we?" she asks instead, surprised by the quiet hoarseness of her voice.

He sighs, glancing around. "Your guess is as good as mine. But from what I can see, and also feel, temperature-wise, we're probably in some kind of underground cellar. No windows, concrete floor and walls, and just a single metal door at that far end."

She does shiver this time, then feels his arm squeeze her tighter against him, a futile attempt to provide some much-needed warmth.

"Have you looked around yet? Anything interesting that might help us?" she asks, slightly hopeful.

He shakes his head at her and she wonders briefly whether his silent negative refers to checking out their current surroundings or to not finding anything useful. Then he raises his other hand and suddenly there's a clinking sound. One of her own hands lifts into the air along with his, almost as if she were a puppet and he were her master. And then it all makes sense.

_Oh fuck._

She groans, her head falling back against his thighs with a heavy thud, a frustrated growl ripping from her throat even as fresh pain pounds through her skull.

"Not _again_!" she laments heavily, her tone equal parts anger and despair, along with a healthy dose of incredulity. Castle gives a rueful nod, along with a resigned shrug of his shoulders.

"I'm afraid so. But to be honest, Beckett, I kinda liked the last time we tried this out…" The amused sparkle in his eye nearly makes her punch him. Instead she focuses on her breathing. He's just damn lucky she's been drugged. Finally she feels confident enough to attempt some cautious movement, and she actually manages to raise her head without it spinning madly about. Encouraged, she pushes herself into a sitting position, mindful of the metal cuffs linking them together by their hands. _Again._

"And how about the time before that, with the tiger?" she retorts dryly. "Did you like that one, too?" She can't keep the irritation out of her voice, not that she really tries. But if anything, her irked tone merely seems to encourage him.

"Admittedly, the tiger wasn't so much fun. And being handcuffed to one another – _again_ – isn't the most original plot twist ever. Still," he continues, "you _did_ say you wouldn't mind being hitched to me. Without the tiger." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at her as the two of them finally manage to stand up.

"Castle…" Beckett grits out in a warning tone. Her head is pounding and violent chills wrack her body as she tries to get a lid on her fatigue, on her _fear_. She understands what he's trying to do, really she does – making her smile, lessening her anxiety, dealing with the darkness by using humor – it's the only thing he's ever known. But she's just not in the mood, not even close, and she can't bring herself to play along. She's tired, drugged with God-knows-what, aching and bruised, and has a headache that's nearly splitting her skull in two. She feels all kinds of miserable and on top of that, their situation seems to have become even more impossible.

She's searching for the right words to say, to make him understand everything without hurting his feelings, but once again he beats her to it, seeming to comprehend her emotions before she even gives voice to them. His eyes soften perceptibly as he looks at her, his lips swallowing whatever clever remark he'd been poised to release. Instead, he takes a step closer, attempting to share with her what little strength and resolve he's managed to retain.

"At least this time, we can do _this_." he murmurs quietly, linking their handcuffed hands together, his fingers gently intertwining with hers. His skin is soft and warm, his grip fervent and supportive. A solid presence in her life. And the implication of his words clogs her throat for a moment, her eyes closing tightly against the onslaught of her own tired tears.

"Come here," he whispers, already pulling her closer. And despite her initial, faint attempt to resist, she finally lets him navigate their handcuffed hands gently behind her back, willingly sinking into the slightly awkward but heartfelt embrace he offers.

She sighs, nestling deeper into his chest, her head tucked tightly beneath his chin. "Castle, we don't have time," she admonishes, her voice muffled by his shirt, but it's a token statement, completely devoid of any real rebuke. He actually feels good, so damn _good_, his body warm and firm against hers.

"We certainly have time for _this_," he murmurs, bringing her even closer, inviting her into him, trying to absorb her, to merge her body with his own. And she melts against him, allowing his warmth to seep into her frozen frame, drawing strength from this single moment of weakness she allows herself, this moment of refuge in his arms.

_At least they are together._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

There is just no way out of this place. They've tried nearly everything in the past hour. They even used her heels in an attempt to dig a hole into one of the two weaker, brick walls that confine them, but to no avail.

They also make inventory of the items their kidnappers left on them. Apart from their clothes and two linen handkerchiefs – _Seriously, who still uses those, Castle?_ – there isn't anything else.

The room doesn't offer much to inspire their creativity, either. Although, there is an old, dirty mattress in the very end of the room that leads them to believe this place is being used for housing captives. There is also a thin opening in the door that closes from outside, prison-style, probably for food to be shoved through.

Kate has read about such places before, in a few reports back when she was a rookie and briefly worked on a case involving prostitution rings and human trafficking. And yes. This appears to be exactly that. Which leaves them with far more questions than answers. And to make things worse, Castle's active imagination is proving for once a huge obstacle and source of unease.

"_Do you think they are going to sell us?"_

So far, they've got guns, probably drugs, and now maybe human trafficking. Seriously, is there something these guys aren't dealing in? What did they happen to stumble into?

She is angry, cold, thirsty and jittery, walking the room in circles, dragging Castle behind her by the cuffs. They've been here for hours and nothing has happened, nobody has come by, and there is no way out. 

His stomach rumbles a couple of times, and it would probably make her smile, if only her head didn't feel like somebody was grabbing her brain and constantly kept slamming it against the inside of her skull.

The pacing brings them nowhere, yet still she walks, round and round, inspects all four walls, the ground, even the ceiling, because certainly, there _is_ another way out. It's better than doing nothing.

Castle is close behind her but he's keeping silent, merely following in her footsteps, trying to make it as easy for her as possible, yet his silence is as unnerving as ever. His lack of ill-fitting jesting only serves to prove the seriousness of their situation.

She comes close to a wall, has to support her weight against it as another wave of nausea hits, sending her head spinning. Out of anger, she kicks the wall with the pointed front of her boot, but to no avail. The brick is as strong as ever.

"Why don't we sit down for a moment?" Castle suggests gently.

It's the first thing he's said in the past half an hour, and even now, his tone is hesitant, laced with uneasiness. As if he's afraid to disrupt a caged animal. Well, great. He's scared of _her_ now?

She rounds on him.

"I don't _want_ to sit." Each word is sharp out of her mouth, but her body betrays her when she sways on the spot.

"Kate, please. You're tired."

She doesn't like the pleading tone of his voice any more than the flare of concern in his eyes. She sighs, her hand still supporting her against the wall, but she obeys at last, walks slowly towards the filthy mattress in the back of the room, silently followed by Castle. She sinks down ungracefully, rests her head against the cold hardness of the wall behind her back. He follows suit, plopping down right next to her, their sides touching.

"I'm sure they're looking for us about now." His voice is quiet, and still it booms in the confined space, bounces off the walls, off the hollowness of the room.

She acknowledges his words with a tiny nod, her throat too clogged to form words. Closing her eyes, she tries to stop the darkness behind her eyelids from spinning. She hurts, damn, she hates to admit it, but she really _hurts_, all over her body. That bastard Warner slammed the door shut with her still standing in it, and she feels exactly like somebody tried to split her into two with an axe. A thick line of pain fires from her stomach through her body and up the middle of her face. At least her nose seems to have been spared in the process—the pain flares mostly on the left side of her head.

A chill rocks her all of a sudden and she jerks up in surprise, wondering whether she's dozed off. She is cold, she realizes, Castle's jacket proving insufficient to warm her. She brings her hands together, squeezes them in between her thighs in hopes to get a little warmer, inadvertently jerking Castle's cuffed hand with her.

"Here, let me." He offers quietly, lifting his free hand up and around her back, pulling her gently into his side by her shoulder.

He's warm. Warm and soft, yet solid. Her personal heating blanket, her partner, her best friend. God, she is lame. Lame and weak. And despite hating having to admit to that, she's more a burden than any real help to Castle at the moment.

Still, she can't help thinking, _at least they are together._

xxx

"C'mon, what do you see?"

"Well, a whole bunch of…nothing."

"_Nothing_? What does that mean?"

"Well, it means that it's dark outside and I can literally see _nothing_."

"Oh Jeez, let me!" She pushes into his side, trying to squeeze him away from the door in order to look through the hole herself, but he won't budge, so she's left to peek through the tiniest of gaps.

"No, wait," she freezes in her attempt to push him completely away from the door. "I think I can see something…or somebody…moving out there."

Her breath nearly stills as she anxiously waits for his next words, hopes beyond hope the person outside is a friend and not a foe. Yeah, fat chance. Still…

"Oh no! No, no, no, get back. Get back! He's coming for us!"

Castle quickly jumps back from the door, dragging her with him by their linked hands, but it's too late, the person too close, and the door flies open, hitting Castle's retreating form hard and missing Kate's already abused one by merely an inch.

Seriously, what is it today with her and slamming doors?

A man walks in, and it's neither Earl, nor Kevin, nor any of the men they previously saw in the warehouse. He's huge and bulky, hands like tree trunks, muscles protruding everywhere despite his enormous body mass. His head is shaved clean, a distinctive tattoo forming an oriental pattern starting right behind one of his ears and disappearing behind the collar of his shirt. He certainly looks like a brute, but Kate still considers her chances in taking him down. Maybe if she took a good aim at one of his knees or his groin, and caught him off-guard, she might stand a chance. She engages the thought a second longer until she sees the gun in his hand. He holds it so easily, so carelessly, but Beckett knows appearances lie. This man, whoever he is, came prepared.

He steps into the room, making them take a couple more steps back. Narrowing his eyes, he takes a close sweep of the room before his eyes come to rest at the two of them. He quickly and completely dismisses Castle, his small watery eyes coming to a stop at Kate instead. The leering smile and the disgustingly lascivious way in which he wets his lips make Kate's insides crawl, but her spine straightens and her shoulders square on pure instinct.

Behind her back, she can feel Castle's warm presence, his uncuffed hand coming to rest against the small of her back protectively. From this angle his touch not visible to their captor. Only she can feel it there, resting low on her back, silently offering support. She is grateful for the comfort, even though she knows that's all it really is. A gesture.

"Hands where I can see them," the brute commands and they both obey, the metal of their linked hands clanking in the silence. He raises the gun then, aims it at Castle's head.

"Out."

They walk outside, into a very narrow corridor, brick walls with a number of metal doors like the one in their cell lining both sides. The ceiling is low, no more than seven feet. The brute barely fits, yet he navigates the space with practiced ease.

"To the right."

They obey, making their way through the corridor. They pass the doors, one by one, occasionally hearing stifled crying or loud shouting and pleading from behind the closed doors.

"Shut up, bitches!" shouts the brute, slamming a fist into one metal door, his voice and the loud sound of the impact silencing the voices at once into eerie silence.

Kate knows with absolute certainty now that her suspicions about this place were correct. She catches Castle's horrified stare and knows her attempt to keep her thoughts about this place to herself in order to spare him the images produced by his own overactive mind has failed.

She knows without the shadow of a doubt that he's thinking about Alexis, can see it on his face when she chances a glace over her shoulder back at him, how the mere thought of so many young girls not unlike Alexis undoes him. Yet she can't do anything about that now because they are not in a much better position themselves, and if they want to stay alive, they need to stay focused.

There is a door ajar at the end of the corridor and the brute silently directs them through. They walk through in silence while their captor's hand flips a switch on the wall. The corridor behind them falls dark, but another light illuminates the space in front of them – a long stony and steep stairwell leading somewhere above.

She thinks they must be in a cellar, an intricate underground system, maybe an old bunker or shelter of sorts. They start to climb up the stairs, their captor's gun carefully trained on their backs at all times.

Her cuffed wrist pulsates with pain, tender skin rubbed raw despite all their efforts to be careful. Now, walking side by side, the abused circle of flesh ignites with a new wave of agony.

They dropped holding hands the moment the man walked in on them in their cell, and apart from Castle's earlier inconspicuous caress, by some unspoken mutual agreement they haven't touched since.

Partners. Here, in front of these men, they are just work partners.

Their captor isn't much of a talker. He navigates them up the stairs and into a room, part of an old abandoned factory it seems. A couple of tinted, partly broken windows let in some light, but all in all, the place looks like a long-abandoned wreck.

Kate can hear the distinctive sounds of metal and water, concrete and seagulls, can smell salt and humidity in the air, and she's sure they're somewhere in the docks. Still, this could be a number of places in NYC alone. Her eyes catch Castle's. He seems to be of the same mind.

"So where exactly are you bringing us?" It's not the first question Castle has directed at their guard since they left their cell – nor the second, or third, for that matter – but it's certainly the first one that's honored with a reply.

"Boss wants to have a word."

The two of them exchange worried looks, neither of them liking the sound of that.

"About what? We don't know anything." He's pushing his luck with his big mouth this time, all three know that, but the giant man just sneers.

"You fuckin' stinkin' cops don't never know _nothin'_. But that don't matter, we'll see _exactly_ how much you know once the Boss is through with ya."

Oh God, that doesn't sound good. That doesn't sound good _at all_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The man doesn't fool around. There are six or seven of his henchmen crowding at his sides and it's more than clear that he's the well-respected leader.

The first thing he does is to ask for their names. Kate briefly considers lying, but there is no point. Especially when the man empties a small bag of their belongings that were confiscated before, and there is her gun, but even more importantly – her badge. Among the missing things are their phones, Castle's as well as her father's watch, two sets of keys, Rick's wallet.

So Beckett identifies herself, loud and clear, her voice bearing no sign of fear or submission as it bounces off the high ceiling and walls of broken windows. But when it comes to Castle's turn to identify himself, they both hesitate.

"Detective Kevin Ryan, NYPD," Kate supplies, looking at their captor rather than Castle himself.

"I didn't ask _you_, bitch." Despite the harshness of his words, the man stays rather calm.

Calculating.

He looks at the single gun, then her lonely badge, and her throat goes dry. He must know, he must at least suspect. And God, he's going to use it against them, isn't he?

"I ask again. Who the fuck are you?" he asks again, his focus solely on Castle this time.

"Kevin Ryan. Homicide detective, 12th precinct." Castle says convincingly enough, following Kate's lead on the deceit. "Want my badge number too?" he adds for good measure, his voice cold, almost careless, and more than a little cocky.

The man eyes him carefully. "Really, Officer _Ryan_, is it?"

"_Detective_ Ryan," Castle hisses, and the quick readiness of his answer along with the fair dose of pride in his voice leaves Kate momentarily breathless. She would kiss him right now if she could.

"She," their captor points to Kate, "is _definitely_ a filthy cop. A hot one, I must admit, but just the same. A useless _cop_."

The man coldly sizes Castle up and down, taking time and visible pleasure in the assessment. "But _you_," his eyes wander over Castle's expensive clothes, his carefully combed hair and clean shaven face, "don't have a single cop vibe about you."

Castle straightens in his fancy shoes, pulls up into his highest stance.

"Anyway, we'll see." The guy quickly decides and picks up their phones. He grabs for Kate's first, easily slides it unlocked and scrolls through the contact list. "Ah, here we go. Kevin Ryan."

He dials the number, listens to the line for a moment. He looks pointedly at Castle, whose phone he holds in his other hand and they all wait, but nothing happens. Their captor lifts his eyebrows mockingly before dropping Kate's phone to the ground and smashing it with the heel of his boot. She winces.

She knows it's absurd, that there is the very real chance they'll end up even worse than her poor cell, but she liked that phone, she _personalized_ it. And now she will have to buy another one. _Again_.

That is, if she lives long enough to be able to buy one.

The guy takes Castle's phone next, moves to unlock it, but he has no luck. Kate knows it's because the thing is password protected. Hell, the whole precinct knows that by now, and it's been a source of ruthless teasing. _Why do you even need your phone protected, Castle?_

_Scared someone might read your newest Nikki Heat manuscript? Storing some naughty Nikki/Rook fantasies in there?_

Their captor tosses the phone at Castle now. Rick catches it rather skillfully, with only one of his hands free.

"Unlock it." The man commands. Castle hesitates, clearly considering refusing, but Kate catches his eye, the intensity of her gaze urging him to obey. This will end badly either way, but why infuriate the guy even further by refusing to cooperate?

He gives in, his digits fumbling to punch in a couple of numbers before he hands his beloved device back over to the man's waiting hands. Their captor quickly scrolls down the name list, comes up with the same result as before, a sudden, triumphant gleam Kate doesn't like one bit appearing in his eyes.

"See, see. What do we have here? A certain Kevin Ryan. Having trouble remembering your own name?" he mocks before continuing more thoughtfully. "Now why would you lie to me about your name? Unless, of course, you aren't a cop. Which will indeed put you into a far worse situation than you already are in now." He sneers at Castle, but the writer merely takes the man's challenging look without comment.

Despite the dangerous tone of the man's voice, Beckett catches a somewhat triumphant glint in Castle's look. It's short-lived, however, for Castle gets pistol-whipped across the face in an instant.

"That's for lying to me, smartass. Now let me ask you again, who _the fuck_ are you and what were you doing with a cop at Warner's house?"

Castle shoots an uneasy look at Beckett, clearly asking for help. There is no other choice, they have to come clean now that they know he isn't a police officer. Wouldn't it be a nice paradox if his status gained him even more protection than a police uniform would? She can't help but wish desperately for it to come true.

"I am a writer."

The man's eyebrows merely rise as he waits for Castle to continue. For such a criminal, he seems to possess a fair dose of patience and nerves. Maybe he will be reasonable, maybe there is still a chance to get out of this unscathed. Maybe if they just come out clean and explain themselves…

"I write crime novels. I've been riding along with Detective Beckett on her assignments. For inspiration," he supplies.

"Oh, you need some inspiration?" The man's voice is low and quiet, dangerous all of a sudden, and he makes a slow, predatory step towards Castle, then another. "I can be pretty inspiring."

The blow comes quickly, is so unexpected and Castle bends double where he stands, his free hand coming to clutch at his gut, a groan of pain involuntarily pushing past his lips.

"Enough with the circus." The man finishes, all amusement gone from his voice now. He silently turns towards his men. He doesn't speak further, addresses nobody in particular, and yet, the slightest shift in atmosphere can be felt. His men who until this point stood as silent – slightly bored – observers, suddenly straighten their spines, a business-like look entering their features. The Boss turns to Kate.

"We will see just how much the NYPD knows," the Boss murmurs and it's a threat, a blatant, ominous threat that makes Kate's spine sizzle with dread. She has no idea what to expect when the Brute from before steps closer to her. Instinctively, her feet crouch, planting themselves firmly against the ground, her whole body going rigid, preparing itself for a fight. She won't go silently, even one-handed and with a still visibly hurting Castle at her side.

But the Brute merely takes out a key, so small in his thick fingers, and uncuffs their joined hands. And for the briefest of moments, Kate feels sudden panic claw up her throat at the loss of connection, even if it was a forced one, but still, one that inevitably bound her to Castle.

Her eyes roam the open space, quickly soaking in her surroundings. Maybe, just maybe, if a window of opportunity presented itself...she'll need to know…be ready.

They're in a large, empty space. A warehouse, or an old, long abandoned factory maybe, not much in it left expect a couple of broken windows, all too high to reach. A few large crates on the left side, a huge shipping container on the right, another pile of crates in the corner.

"Hey! Look at _me_, bitch."

Her head snaps back, eyes focusing on the man in front of her.

The Boss is looking directly at her now, and even as he speaks he's taking her measure. She doesn't flinch, merely returns his steely gaze. She feels Castle somewhere close at her side, silently straightening again, recovering from what surely must have been a really painful hit, and she is oddly proud of him.

She and the Boss lock gazes for a long while, not a single waver, the intensity nearly charging the air. The man is calculating, sizing her up, but she doesn't give him anything. Something shifts in his cold blue eyes, so unlike Castle's, Kate can't help but think, before the man reaches a final decision, barking out his commands at last.

"Bring in the tub. Let's see what the good detective is made of."

The words echo in her ears, ricochet off the walls of her skull.

_The tub_.

She can feel Castle grow rigid at her side. She can hear him stutter under his breath, whispering her name only for her to hear, and his voice is suddenly void of any pretense of calm. He's terrified.

Two men have walked away into a side office at the back of the main area, but Kate doesn't watch, can't unglue her eyes from the Boss's cold blue ones. He reminds her of Lockwood somehow, his calm manner and cold, calculating smile. He is smart, that's without discussion, and he is also ruthless and forceful. Nothing of their usual kind.

She prays the guys back at the precinct have discovered their absence, are already looking into Warner and his house closely, are about to find some tiny lead that might bring them to their rescue in time. The Boss has called Ryan's number from her phone, so there might be a chance there, but even as she thinks this, Kate knows her chances are slim. The call never picked up and she called from a private number. To trace the call, they'd have to set up a trap in advance, expecting her call, which at this point she doesn't find too likely. Alas, the call never picked up anyway, meaning that Ryan's probably in the field, either on an assignment or already looking for them. God, she hopes he's looking for them, along with the whole cavalry. She claws at the tiny, weak shreds of hope, holds it tight to her chest, the chance that somehow, somewhere, someone has noticed and is already looking for them.

Her eyes finally break away from the man's, wander to Castle's instead. They are not linked by their hands anymore, they merely stand side by side, both silent and utterly terrified, though she can hide her fear a little better than he can.

It doesn't mean she is unaffected. Not at all.

She is suddenly missing their connection. The cuffs had been a great hindrance, but had also provided a strange sense of comfort at not being _able_ to be separated. Now the link is missing and she has to fight the impulse to reach out to him and grasp at the hem of his coat, pulling him close. Her hands curl into tight fists at her sides instead.

The two men come back accompanied by a horrible, screeching sound – metal against concrete. When they appear from behind the pile of stocked crates, they're dragging a huge, ancient-looking iron vat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Kate can't stop the shiver from running down her spine. Everything about this situation screams _torture_ and she has a bad feeling she is the one that will soon be on the receiving end.

She chances a side-away look at Castle, but it's a bad decision. He stands stock silent, his eyes huge as he gapes, open-mouthed, at the dragged in object. Kate's sure he knows by now, he's smart enough to have connected all the dots together. To his credit though, he stays silent, not a single quip escaping past his tightly pressed lips, despite the slight tremble to his hands. He is rigid otherwise, his shoulders stiff and tight, his whole being completely on edge, a tightly stretched spring that just waits to be released. She can't blame him.

Another man is dragging in a hose, starts filling up the tub with water, while another one has disappeared somewhere behind the crates, probably into one of the back offices. Everybody works efficiently and in silence - a well-practiced ritual - Beckett realizes, a sense of the worst foreboding petrifying her whole being.

Her head fills with desperate, wistful, yet useless yearning. Surely, Ryan and Esposito must be already looking for them. They _must be_ by now. They are smart, they know where to look. They will get them out. _This_ – whatever this will turn out to be, might at least buy them some time. For the both of them, her _and_ Castle.

She forces her mind to focus back on him, the man standing near but not quite close enough, currently observing _her_ out of the corner of her eye. He tries to stand still, a picture of disinterested serenity, his only tell the occasional involuntary jerk of one of his limbs. He tries to appear collected, unaffected, but the slight tremble of his hands gives him away. It always has.

She wants to reach out, take his hand, squeeze it tight in reassurance, tell him it's going to be fine. But she has no way of knowing, she really doesn't. Still, she wants to give the reassurance anyway.

In the end, she does nothing. She just doesn't dare.

She won't give their kidnappers more revealing facts than they already have, something they might use as a further weapon against them. So far, to their captors they are just partners. And by the way it looks so far, his not-being-a-cop might actually – ironically – spare him the worst part.

She looks back at the tub as it slowly fills with water and she can't help but wonder how cold it is. How long she will last. How long before she finally breaks.

Ryan once mentioned the feeling of suffocation is unbearable. He would know; he had first hand experience with drowning. So she wonders.

A man returns from the back office, a huge transparent plastic sack hanging over his shoulder.

Ice.

They are not simply going to drown her, torture her for information she doesn't have, but they are going to do it in the most painful, sadistic way as well. Castle's thin grasp on control is starting to slip, the dangling sack of ice seeming to be the last straw for him.

"You don't need to do this," he begs, his voice thin and feeble all of a sudden. "We don't know anything. _She_ doesn't know anything!"

She closes her eyes, squeezes them shut against the sound of his pleading. This is only going to make it worse, but she can't find it in herself to rebuke him now.

He is scared. Petrified. And so is she. She only happens to be lucky enough to be able to seal the lid on her emotions a little tighter – result of years of professional training and experience. Castle has neither. And it shows. She can't blame him for that.

The plastic sack gets ripped apart over the tub, starting to fall in abundance, cascading nearly silently into the water, sinking and clanking against the bottom before it floats upwards to the surface again. The motion is mesmerizing, hypnotic, nearly soothing. If it were not for the fact that she is about to have her head plunged into it in a matter of minutes, she might enjoy the view.

She wishes, absurdly, that she could be holding Castle's hand.

How irrational is that? She is about to be tortured and she wants to hold a man's hand? Like that's going to make a difference. And yet, her rational mind can't stop her fluttering heart from wishing for it.

Castle's eyes are now frantically flipping between the Boss and her, and she can nearly see all of his wheels spinning madly inside his skull, trying to come up with a solution.

"Don't worry, Shakespeare, this is just a precaution. If your detective here sings, this might not come to use at all. We just want some answers."

Castle quickly spins towards her, his eyes wild, as if she herself holds the key to her salvation. She knows it probably won't be easy as that.

"What answers?" she asks in a even voice, her eyes narrowing at the man, her steely gaze letting him know she is not one to be fooled.

The tub is nearly full now, ice cubes floating at the surface and quietly clinking against each another. The whole warehouse - or whatever this damn place is - grows quiet with the water being cut off. The silence is deafening, oppressing, the only sound now a faint echo of the Boss's steps when he comes towards her, his goons following at his heels like shadows.

The Boss comes to a halt a mere foot in front of her, too close for Beckett's liking, his eyes cold and calculating. "What were you doing in Warner's house?"

There is no sense to lying at this point.

"He is a suspect in a murder investigation. We were merely trying to find and bring him in for questioning." Her voice is steady, deadly calm. She doesn't blink. This is something she is good at. Interrogation. Admittedly, usually, she is the one to ask questions, but she knows enough to know how the routine goes.

"Bullshit! What fucking murder? I ain't involved in no fucking murder!" shouts Warner, stepping around from behind the Boss. Kate won't give away her surprise, she has no idea when exactly Warner arrived here, not that she cares. She stares at the Boss, doesn't break eye contact with him, letting him know she knows who calls the shots.

This seems to please him. He gives a small grin, raises his hand towards Warner to stop his angry blabbering. The man falls silent at once.

"Are you saying that your being at Warn's house was merely a coincidence?" The man's calm manor is sending chills up her spine, but she manages to play along, matching him in every move.

"No," she replies steadily. "I am saying we were there on purpose to pick up Kevin Warner, who is a suspect in a murder investigation."

"Bullshit!" spits Warner.

The Boss gives Warner a warning look, making him shrink away, taking a couple of steps back. When he looks back at her, he's still composed, but some of that patience and calmness seems to have evaporated, leaving behind only icy expediency.

It's striking, the coldness of the man's look against Castle's warmth at her back. He must have shifted closer to her when the Boss reprimanded Warner. He's not touching her yet, but so close still that she can feel the warmth radiating off of him in waves. A protective gesture, no doubt, as the nameless goons start to crowd them, coming ever closer.

"Where are you really from, sweetheart? Are you from Narcotics? Robbery? I can picture you in Human Trafficking," the Boss sneers, resuming his questioning. Despite his continuing relaxed manner, a slightly impatient tone appears in his voice.

Done making small talk. Kate knows this part only too well.

She keeps her head high, drawing strength from Castle's proximity. His presence. "I'm from Homicide."

"Don't lie!" The boss suddenly bellows, directly into Kate's face, but she doesn't flinch. She was expecting it anyway, and she's not one to be intimidated either. However, the splitting headache, something she has apparently forgotten about in the wake of the events of the past couple of minutes, returns full force. She has to fight against the urge to blink, close her eyelids against the pain of the light. The man's breath is in her face now, close and surprisingly fresh.

She feels Castle close the last remaining gap between their bodies, his bulky frame a solid presence at her back, her side. Her constant shadow.

She may be selfish for thinking so, but…

_At least they are together in this_.

"Who are you?!" He shouts, doesn't even pretend to be calm now. She expected as much.

"My name is Kate Beckett," she starts again, replies steadily, her eyes fixed at the Boss, her voice unfazed by the man's outburst, despite the heavy roar of blood in her ears, the pounding in her head. "I am an NYPD homicide detective, working at the 12th precinct."

The man huffs right into her face, disbelieving, a sneering leer and a dangerous, malevolent glint twinkling in his eyes. He is menacing when he wants to be, she has to give him that.

But she is Kate Beckett. A woman who survived her mother's death, her father's alcoholism, became the youngest detective in the history of New York's police force in spite of all of it. She's a cop who survived her apartment being bombed and who's stared down barrels of numerous guns. She's faced a dirty bomb, been shut in a meat freezer, and she survived a bullet to the heart. There are very few things she is scared of in life. And even those, she won't let show.

So she doesn't.

She won't.

She won't look at Castle. She _won't_.

Won't give her biggest fear away.

As long as she stays the target of their questioning, Castle remains out of it. She can certainly live with that. As long as he doesn't do anything foolish, doesn't draw their attention to himself, she knows what to do, how to handle this. She can handle this.

The tone as well as the tempo of the questing has considerably changed. They come quickly, forcefully, all pretenses dropped in favor of brute intimidation.

"Answer me bitch!" the Boss is yelling. "What do the cops know about _my_ business?"

She keeps her story straight, unfazed. "I wouldn't know. I work for the homicide. I don't know, nor care in particular, who you are. I am investigating a homicide."

"Don't lie to me!"

The Boss smacks her then, hard. His aim is excellent too, for he goes straight for the already swollen parts on her face. Her head spins with pain, gaze blurring for a moment as dizziness sweeps over her. She has to work hard to stay upright, but she can't help the involuntary groan leaving her lips.

"Stop it! Leave her alone."

She wishes she could scream at him to shut up, to stay out of it, but her tongue is glued to the roof of her mouth.

He gets punched too. So hard he falls to his knees – the knee that healed only recently, the one he broke in a poor attempt to show off on his snowboard. The force of the impact and sickening crunch of his kneecaps makes her wince.

She won't look it him. She won't. One look at him and she will give them away. Will give away _everything_. And then it would get really, really dangerous.

"Looks like Shakespeare here has a little crush on you, detective," the Boss comments, and Kate's heart plummets down her chest, anxiety gripping her stomach and clawing at her ribs, making it hard to breathe. But then the Boss simply continues, disregarding Castle and thank God for small favors.

"What do the cops know about me and my business operations? What are they up to?" The Boss starts anew with restored calmness. He is not shouting anymore, even took a step away from her, but the predatory look he is giving her sends her heart pounding.

"I don't know," she repeats, the slightest trace of desperation entering her voice and dammit, she is starting to crack already?

Not yet, just not yet.

_Hold your shit together, Kate!_

"Alright," the Boss declares on a dramatic sigh, turning his gaze to his cronies. "Witness refuses to cooperate – that's what you cops call it, right?"

She knows this is it. This is the moment when the tub comes into play. Her body gives a slight shake, no doubt an involuntary reaction to her minds projection upon seeing the cold water and what lies beneath. But mentally, she is ready.

She has known it would come to this ever since they dragged in the tub, started to fill it up with water.

_You can do this. You're Kate Beckett. You survived a bullet to the heart. _

It becomes her mantra. Her mind goes numb, her breathing slowing down. Everything goes into slow motion, her mind suddenly blissfully blank, empty. She is prepared. Not resigned. Just prepared.

She is. She truly is.

Somewhere outside her head, she can hear Castle screaming, calling her name, the fact that he's held down by a pair of men finally registering. She forces the sound out of her mind, ruthlessly silences it.

When they come for her, she'll be prepared.

She _is_ prepared. She can do this. She can survive even torture.

Only, their hands grab for Castle instead.

And she realizes only then. She was never prepared for this.


	8. Chapter 8

**Warning:** This chapter should probably be considered M. Unfortunately not due to sexual content, but due to disturbing subject matter and descriptive graphic violence. You've been warned.

**Chapter 8**

They drag him over to the tub and suddenly she's on her knees, a distant feeling of sharp pain at the back of her knees. She honestly can't remember fighting them, but already two men are grunting at her side, roughly holding her still.

The other two are dragging Castle by the neck of his shirt, force him around the tub so they can face them.

During the whole ordeal, Castle is shockingly silent.

He is forced to kneel – another crack to his abused knees – and just for the shortest of moments, their eyes meet – his previously huge, terrified blue radiating a strange sense of resignation.

He is _glad_. The bastard, that incredible, loving bastard with his giant heart, is glad that it's him. Glad it's not _her_.

She can't even-

"I am asking you for the last time, bitch. What do the cops _know_?"

She can't answer him, can't even plead with him. Her eyes are glued to Castle's instead, despair and terror gripping her insides, fear paralyzing her vocal chords.

It's inevitable, yet still, she can't comprehend it. What's about to happen.

To _Castle_.

This is not…

They've got it all_ wrong_. It should have been _her_. Not him. Just not…_him_.

She holds his gaze for a fraction longer, sick to the stomach yet unable to look away in the face of what's about to happen, what she knows will be haunting her for the rest of her life if she gets to live it.

One more look into the incredible blue of his eyes. Then his head is forced under the water.

Her voice dies in her throat on a silent, choked cry. And for the first time, she wishes she were alone in this.

xxx

They keep him under the water for ages. It's probably only a couple of seconds, but for Beckett, they are some of the longest of her life.

He fights, his body twisting and jerking, trying to free himself, but it's to no avail as two pairs of huge, ruthless hands keep his head shoved under the surface.

He comes out sputtering and gurgling, spitting water and taking huge, wheezy gulps of air. His whole body trembles with exertion as well as pain. The gripping hands let go of him and he falls to the ground, miraculously able to use his hands to brace himself against the impact on the concrete, breaking his fall. He coughs violently, spitting chunks of water to the floor.

She's breathing hard, sick to the stomach and there are colorful spots dancing behind her eyes, but she can't bring herself to look away, her eyes glued to the horrifying image. She is denied even that much however, for her view gets obstructed by a pair of jean-clad legs. The boss scoots down, right into her line of sight. He looks satisfied with the effect this has on her, _that_ _smug bastard_, and Kate feels a sudden urge to grip him by the throat and choke him, the rage possessing her nearly inhuman.

She wants him _dead_.

"Let's try again, sweetheart. What do the cops know about me and my employer?" He asks calmly, as if they are having a nice cozy conversation over a cup of coffee. But more importantly, he is still obstructing her sight, the fucking bastard, while Castle's pathetic sounds echo in the air around her, his struggle for air filling her ears and tugging at her heart.

"I swear I told you the truth," she tries to reason desperately. "We were _just_ supposed to pick up Warner for questioning. Nothing else."

"Am I supposed to believe that?" the man asks, his eyes cold, disbelieving. "Do you really think I'm _that _stupid?" There is no anger in his eyes anymore, just a deadly calm. He's sure he'll get his answers, one way or another, believes she's unwilling to give up information she doesn't even have. Kate feels hopelessness flooding her chest like a tidal wave.

Neither lie nor truth is going to help her. Help _Castle_. The desperate, crippling feeling chokes her up.

"I'm asking you for the last time," her captor says in a warning tone. "What do the cops know about me?"

"I don't _know_!" Beckett shouts directly into his face, finally loosing control. She is not being smart, not at all, showing him how much this affects her, how easily breakable she is with the right tools, showing him exactly how much Castle means to her.

But she can't. She just can't do otherwise, not when they're going to continue to torture Castle. "I just work homicide! I don't _know_ anything about you or your shady operations! I don't care!"

Her voice is cracking, breaking on each word, her eyes beseeching the man to believe her. He holds her gaze for a moment longer but then just sighs in mock exasperation. He rises to his feet, steps aside to let her see again.

"I thought you valued his life more," he says, his voice feigning disappointment, before he gestures to his two cronies to continue. Castle gets roughly lifted by the shoulders, manhandled like a puppet.

"No, please!" she shouts, her voice shrill and hoarse at the same time, but it's to no avail.

His head gets shoved under the water again.

xxx

The next time Castle's head emerges, the hands of his captors loosening and dropping his worn body to the ground, he's not quick enough to break his fall. He smacks down, hard, but then something surprising happens.

He laughs. He actually laughs, and Kate worries he may be losing his mind. He sputters and spits water, gasps for air while crawling on all fours. And still he laughs. The sound echoing from the walls is not at all amusing.

"I thought," he gasps hoarsely, fighting for air, "I thought Ryan was exaggerating." He appears to be talking to himself, but Kate knows the words are for her. "But the bath," he gulps for more air, "did wonders for his skin in the following weeks." He laughs again, a touch of hysteria to the sound.

Kate honestly can't fathom how he can joke at a time like this. She's never seen anything more horrifying in her whole life, and she's a homicide detective. But Castle can obviously surprise her even at a time like this. She knows what he's doing. She just can't comprehend the _why_. Why on earth would he think about anybody else's feelings right now but his own?

The Boss turns away from her to stare at Castle too, contemplating the spluttering, crawling pitiful creature for a moment.

"Something funny, Shakespeare?"

_Shut up Castle, shut up, just shut the hell up._

"Just-" Castle wheezes, still struggling to find his breath. "Just contemplating the merits of a cold bath. 'S all," he slurs, and Kate's eyes close shut in despair.

Idiot. Silly, stupid idiot.

The Boss turns back to her, points his thumb back over his shoulder in Castle's direction.

"He's always like this?"

"He's only getting started," she rasps drily, hoping beyond hope she isn't doing the wrong thing by playing along. Castle's answering grin nearly makes it worthwhile. She can't help but grin back, a small victory, the familiar connection making all around them fade for a moment.

"Well," the man wonders, a dangerous twist in his eye. "Let's see how much he can take before you two start to take me seriously." Kate's face immediately falls, heart dropping in her chest.

"Dunk him again."

"No!"

It's too late. Castle's head disappears under the water. She can't believe it, watching the scene frozen in horror.

Why the fucking cruelty? The man hasn't even asked her his questions yet.

xxx

The terror doesn't stop. Again and again, Castle gets dunked and lifted from the icy water the same moment Kate thinks with unsuppressed dread that this time, it's way too much to take, too long to survive.

He's not laughing anymore, spends the short time between the dives lying choking on the ground, icy water gurgling from his throat and spilling onto the wet floor.

She can't watch it, she can't, and yet, she can't _not_, can't unglue her eyes from the images nightmares are made of.

The whole time, the Boss keeps firing his questions, and she can't give him any more answers than she already gave, all of which are useless to stop Castle's torture.

Upon the sixth or seventh dive, when Castle's head emerges, Kate can see right away that it's much, much worse. He instantly falls to his knees, unable to draw a breath. Violent shivers rock his body and he is trembling from head to toe. Forget the laughing, he's not even gasping for breath in the pauses like before.

He doesn't even rise when his body heaves, the fluid contents of his stomach filling the already wet floor. From then on, whenever he's lifted off the tub and let go, he just keeps on vomiting, heaving over and over until all the water is out before falling to the floor, his cheek resting against cold wet concrete, eyes closed, only to have the water forced into his body once again upon the next dive.

Sometime along the way, a silent tear rolls down her cheek. Then another.

She's never felt more powerless in her life. Utterly useless.

The Boss keeps on asking his questions, but she doesn't even care to try to come up with plausible answers that might satisfy him. It's pointless anyway. So she blabbers on, whenever Castle's head emerges, repeats the same things all over again. She even pleads. But despite her interactions with the Boss, her main focus is always on Castle. He's mainly silent, hasn't uttered a single word since his third dive, probably more than aware that his quick mouth will bring him more grief and suffering.

Kate almost wishes she had the same luxury to stay silent but instead, she is the one being interrogated. And every answer, truth or lie, can save him a couple of seconds. At least a few, short-lived seconds in which he's left alone, in which his head is not being forced under the water and he's not fighting for a breath he isn't able to take, the water muting his silent cries.

So she talks only half aware of what she says, her chest growing tighter and tighter, stomach rolling uncontrollably. It's only a matter of time until she's sick herself.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the situation worsening. With the growing number of futile attempts to get the answers he seeks, with the same scenario bringing not the results he expected, the Boss' approach changes. He gets more impatient and ultimately more violent.

"Don't you care about him AT ALL?!" he shouts at her after another round that Castle barely survives. The Boss takes a longer pause to let the writer recover. He's fallen face-flat on the ground this time when they pulled him from the tub.

She stares at his unmoving form, a chill and terror running through her veins and aching in her bones.

They really are going to kill him. God help her, they will kill him.

The Boss continues to yell, pacing impatiently back and forth in front of her. "Would you rather have him _killed_ than rat out your cop buddies? Are you that cynical? That loyal to your badge?"

She has no answer for that. She isn't. Isn't loyal at all, not in the face of this. She would, in fact, rat out the whole precinct if it stopped Castle's torture. But she doesn't say so. The man wouldn't believe her either way. He wants to hear something she can't give. The hopelessness and her own impotence in the situation cripple her, paralyze her body, her whole frame aching with suppressed nerves, shaking with helpless rage.

She urges her lips together, teeth painfully biting the inside of her cheek to stay silent. Her eyes are fixed right ahead of her, still on Castle, huge and round and terrified as she heavily gulps for air, having a hard time drawing proper breath. Only then does she realize she's choked up, sobbing violently, her whole being shaking with grief. She can't help him, can't save him. No more than she can save herself from watching the man she loves being tortured to death right in front of her eyes.

She stopped counting the number of times he's been dunked in and out of the tub long ago, the first time was already one too many. She doesn't even care about keeping up appearances anymore, lets her tears run freely. It's pointless either way, she can't make them _stop_ doing what they are doing.

She's tried to struggle against the men holding her, sometimes more involuntarily than consciously, pulling against their grip, but the men have hands of steel.

On his _n_th dive, Castle stops fighting against his captors altogether, his body twitching and jerking under the water occasionally, but he doesn't fight. _He doesn't fight_.

It sends a fresh wave of dread down her spine.

God, Castle.

_Just don't give up. Don't give up._


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: I am sorry for not getting back to your reviews, weeksend's been kinda extremely time-demanding and I don't want to leave you guys waiting, but let me know that I read every single one review and it makes me smile and totally spurrs me on, makes my will to write and continue what I am doing the more. *hugs ya* all! Now off to the story._

**Chapter 9**

Castle's wet, cold body falls heavily to the ground. He can barely draw breath, heaving, gurgling sounds leaving his mouth along with a fresh dose of inhaled water.

"This isn't working," the Boss says from his position crouched in front of Kate, scratching his chin thoughtfully. Like he hasn't just tortured another human being for the past half an hour. Like this is a normal, work-related problem he has to solve.

Kate's stomach rolls, her knees numb from putting her weight on them for so long. Her face pulsates, so does her chest where Warner smashed her with the doorframe. Still, it has nothing on the pain she's feeling deep inside her chest, a deep-seated ache that can never be unmade, a wound that will never truly heal. A bullet to the heart seems to be an easier option right now.

The Boss is looking her in the eye, a silent question dancing in his cold blues as he silently evaluates. She knows that curiosity, that question he tries to find an answer to. She has asked the same question numerous times herself, outside the interrogation room as well as inside it.

'_What makes you tick? What will finally break you?'_

She thought it couldn't get worse. She was wrong.

With cold dread filling her lungs, Kate realizes the man has barely just started.

"Let's bring in the electric wire," he decides.

"No," she whispers in horror. Her throat goes dry, a lump the size of a fist forming in her throat and gagging her, robbing her of her voice.

"Don't do that, please!" she begs in a feeble voice, but the man has already risen to his feet, is stepping away from her, walking over to Castle instead.

"Give the man a moment to gather his strength." His voice is calm and impassive as he addresses Castle's handlers, who instantly take a respectful step away. The Boss is unfazed and thoroughly businesslike as he crouches down to Castle's shaking form, patting his shoulder in what might appear to be a compassionate gesture. "You're going to need it, buddy."

The man pretends to take no pleasure in what he does. It's a farce, an insult to the injury. They all know he's willing to go all the way in his pursuit to get what he wants. One of the worst traits in an enemy, Kate knows. The worst kind to attempt to escape from unscathed.

The Boss's phone rings, the shrill, simple tune ricocheting off of the empty factory walls, off of the high ceiling. He takes the call, utters a few affirming hums and a few sparse words that give Kate absolutely _nothing_. Nothing she could potentially use as leverage.

"I'll be right there," he ends the call, closing his phone shut. He turns to Kate. "Hate to be rude, but it appears I'll have to leave your company for a couple of minutes. Promise me you'll behave," he gives a wink to Beckett.

She gulps, working hard to suppress the bile rising in her throat.

He nods at Castle's handlers, a silent, well-trained command, then turns to Beckett's captors. "Jay, you come with me," he tells the one on her left, directs his next words to the remaining one. "You keep a close eye on that one," he points his chin at Kate. "I bet she can be pretty feisty."

Her stomach rolls, but she bites her cheek, stays silent.

xxx

The Boss walks away, leaving them with three of his goons to guard them. Two are still hovering at Castle's side, though there isn't much to guard. He is lying on the ground in a pitiful heap, wet and trembling, his face against the concrete as he tries to force some air into his lungs. The third man comes to stand right in front of her, blocking her view, his gun trained directly at her forehead. He seems to have taken his boss's words seriously.

At least there wasn't time to bring in the_ wire_ yet_._

Merely the thought of what that means twists her stomach into tiny, painful knots.

She looks at the man, sees the cold, concentrated look on his face. It would not be easy, but this is her _only_ opening, her only chance.

She isn't sure she can survive another round of Castle's torture, upgraded this time, with the knowledge she did absolutely _nothing_ to try to stop it.

There are three of them and only one of her. She can't count on Castle; her only real expectation of him is the hope that if she were to succeed, he'd be able to walk away on his own two legs.

She calculates, the wheels and cogs in her brain spinning fiercely. There are three men to take down, three men to fight, and she needs to protect Castle from harm at the same time. But the Boss could come back at any minute with even more of his men, closing her only window. She has no idea of this place, has no idea where they are. There's also the fair possibility that Castle's in no state to move at all, let alone run.

And yet, she knows she has to try. This is her only chance.

She takes a breath, then another, tries to catalogue her next steps, carefully calculating. Dangerous. And highly deadly.

The guy in front of her has no idea. A minute ago, she was just a sobbing heap. A failure, a victim she allowed them to reduce her to.

But no more.

Kate Beckett is no victim anymore.

The rise of her hands is a flash the man can't even see coming. Her movement is sure. She grabs his wrist with one hand, snaps and twists his gun with the other. Before the man has time to register, two shots blast through the air, deafeningly loud in the open space.

She knew all along, and expected that the noise would certainly call back their other captors, but there's just no other way about this.

She knows she has to be quick.

She doesn't hesitate.

Before the man's body even hits the ground, she's already twisted the gun out of his hand and is aiming at Castle's torturers. She is in full combat mode, eyes staring unblinking, slaughterous.

The men go to grab for their guns but they are too late. She fires the gun, over and over again.

She doesn't aim to maim. She goes directly for the kill without a second thought. Shoots Castle's torturers with twice the amount of bullets she'd normally need.

Just to make absolutely sure, she tells herself. But she knows it's something dark and twisted that pulsates to life in her chest and directs her hand.

The men fall dead without a single groan. Blood starts to leak everywhere, mixing with the spilled water from the tub.

The warehouse, hangar, factory – whatever this place is – falls completely silent. Silent but for Castle's heavy breathing, mixed with occasional dry sobs. He is still crouched down in a fetal position on all four extremities, his head instinctively covered by both arms. Only slowly does he lift his head, and then he looks around to take in the sudden stillness of the place, his confusion at what just happened apparent.

There is blood spattered all over him, his clothes, the side of his face. It takes him a long moment to direct his confused eyes at her, and longer still before their eyes finally meet. He's bleary, eyes a bit unfocused, mind definitely fogged. His look is glassy and empty, and it would break her heart all over again if she only had the time. Then fear and pain glisten in his blues, along with recognition and finally, something akin to comprehension and relief.

Only then does her heart truly break. She'll never be able to make this right.

She forces her feet to move, unrooting them from their spot. She quickly closes the space separating them, steps over the dead bodies on the ground in order to crouch down next to him, grabbing him by his upper arms as she helps him into a sitting position.

He breathes heavily, a complicated, elaborate process. She grabs him by the lapels of his drenched coat, clinging to him to support him, then she caresses the side of his face with one of her hands.

His skin is freezing cold, ashen white and clammy. His hair is soaking wet, his lips blue, the whites of his eyes strewn with the red of burst blood vessels. And yet, he somehow finds it in him to offer her a tremulous smile.

"If I didn't feel like crap, I'd be appreciating your mad badass skills," he croaks through his chattering teeth.

She wants to cry, she wants to laugh. She does both, hysterics gripping her at last. She brings him closer into a fierce hug, anchors herself to him, tries to transfer at least a tiny bit of her bodily heat back to him as violent shivers keep running through him, rocking his body.

They have to go, she knows this; they should have left already, and made a run for it. But still, she has a hard time letting him go, and she doesn't think he has the physical strength to let go even if he wanted to.

"We need to go, Rick. Can you walk?" she whispers against the side of his head, cradling it against her shoulder. She can't help but press a gentle kiss against the shell of his ear, the flesh feeling oddly numb, freezing cold.

He sighs, air rumbling deep in his chest. She doesn't like the sound of it.

"I don't know," he whispers in earnest. "But I'll try."

"Good man," she whispers appreciatively. That earns her a low chuckle, quickly followed by a fit of violent coughing.

Despite her concern for his health, she still hauls him up by the lapels of his coat, standing in her spot and holding him upright until he regains his balance. But they have stalled long enough, so she grabs his hand, the other one coming to grip the cold handle of the gun.

This time when they come, she'll be ready.

She momentarily contemplates snatching a gun for Castle too, but in his current state, it would probably be more a hindrance to him than an asset. He looks like he will need both of his hands merely to stay upright.

She crouches down next to one of the men she shot, takes his gun away and slides it into the front of her jeans.

She looks around, trying to decide which way is best to go. There are a number of front offices that must lead outside, their view hidden by a bunch of crates, but that's also the direction the Boss went. So that's a no-go.

So she tugs on Castle's hand, makes for the back of the building instead, hoping for some kind of back entrance. Her quick pace borders on a run, but when she hears Castle's feet stumbling behind her, she knows they cannot go any faster. He drags after her, keeping up as best he can. He miscalculates, falls into her back, knocks her sideways, but she regains her footing and grips his hand even tighter. They make it to the back—another bank of offices—and walk past them as quick as he can manage.

His breath is labored and he has a hard time taking in air, judging from the rasping sounds she hears clearly from behind her. But he is trying, barely slowing her down despite the uncoordinated, stumbling thumps of his feet.

There is a corridor on the right and she briefly wonders whether to take it when they hear it. The shouts. The rage. Someone must have already found the bodies.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

More angry shouts and loud thumps of heavily booted feet. _Fuck_. They're already being followed.

She grips Castle's hand tighter, urging him on, but he seems to be slowing down instead, his feet shuffling on the uneven linoleum floor. He still somehow manages to keep up with her, but only barely, and Beckett knows he won't last much longer.

She makes a quick decision and ducks into a side office. She helps him ease down to the ground as he tries to catch his breath, and his head drops instantly between his legs as his abused lungs try to gulp down enough oxygen. He doesn't look good, not at all, but she has no time to worry about that right now.

She takes in her surroundings, quickly scanning the room before jumping up and crossing it in a few hasty strides towards its barreled windows. Heavy wooden boards are nailed to the frames and Beckett actually has to search for a gap so she can take a look in order to assess where they might be, whether it's even worth trying to pry the wood off in the hope of an escape.

The sounds of running feet grow louder. Not too close yet, but louder still, and Beckett's heart hammers in her chest. They need to get out, _now_. She doesn't want to think about what would happen if they got recaptured, what the price for her escape attempt would be. There is no doubt in her mind that one or both of them wouldn't survive it.

She finds a thin slit of light, her eye pressing against the sharp edge of the thin gap. Sun blinds her momentarily, her dilated pupils taking a moment to adjust to the sudden onslaught of light.

She was right. They _are_ at the docks. Beyond the concrete pier, Beckett can clearly see the shimmering surface of the water.

Suddenly she's clawing at the wood, trying to use her fingers to rip it off, a sudden burst of energy, fury and despair fueling her actions, but it's to no avail. The wood doesn't budge a millimeter. She looks around the room, frantically searching for something, _anything_, that could help her rip the planks from the frame, help her open an escape window to this nightmare.

Their pursuers' footsteps fall ever closer and Kate's heart races, despair clawing up her throat. They don't have the time, but still her eyes seek out Castle, his silent, huddled form slouched on the ground, back heavily resting against the wall.

He's her responsibility now, it's _her_ job to rescue him. But she is running out of time and she doesn't know what to do.

"There," Castle's voice - rather feeble - cuts through the room. "At the back wall." He points to the back of the room with a shaking hand. "There's a hammer. Maybe that-" he bursts into a fit of coughs, has to fight his way through it to finish. "Maybe that…can help."

She does as he tells her, darting to the back of the office immediately and grabbing for the hammer that was obscured from her view by a broken table knocked on its side.

Using it will make noise, a_ lot _of noise. She knows it will lure their pursuers closer, the sound putting a figurative red dot to their foreheads, but she has no other option.

She grips the hammer until her knuckles turn white and starts to use the claw end of the hammer to prise the wood off the frame.

The effort it takes to throw her weight into prying off the thick boards spikes her blood and raises her blood pressure, making her headache explode until she sees little stars, but she keeps going, unwavering.

"Sorry - I can't - help," Castle stutters in between the individual hits and she shoots a quick backward glance at him, sees his hands still violently shaking over his thighs, his face white as a sheet. He looks close to fainting, but Kate can't afford to think about that right now. She has to get them _out_.

She raises the hammer again, the tool heavy like lead in her grip.

That's" —_grunt—_ "okay," she calls back to him through clenched teeth, as she throws her weight against the too-short handle of the hammer, rocking rhythmically in an attempt to pry off the board. "Just try" —_uhhh!—_ "to" _—arrggh!—_ "rest.

He doesn't reply to that, and she hopes beyond hope that he is merely resting and not passed out. She has to focus on the task and cannot spare a glance back at him. _Fuck_, she needs to get him out of here. _Now._

She's already managed to break a small hole in between two boards, having used both her despair and rage as the fuel to do the necessary damage. Her head is splitting with pain, vision slightly swimming, but she keeps going, even as her arms scream in protest.

The voices, the running footsteps grow a bit distant, maybe searching another part of the building. It gives her hope, maybe there's still enough time.

She pushes the head of the hammer thought the hole she dug, uses the sides of the metal head to plank away at chunks of wood from outwards in. The wood starts to slowly give in to her desperate pull. One board splinters suddenly and a few pieces of sharp wood fly towards her face. She feels a prickly sting down one of her cheeks but she doesn't stop. The boards finally give in and Beckett feels like releasing a small, victorious cry when one of the boards comes off completely, nails that held it to the frame still sunk deep inside its wood.

The hole in the window is bigger now, it's a gap really. She could her push her whole arm through, but it's still not wide enough – not nearly enough – for a human to squeeze. Not for her and _surely_ not for Castle's bulky frame.

Then she hears it, a voice shouting out somewhere near the corridor, the loudest and closest yet, and she has to suppress a desperate, ferocious growl when she realizes this was to no avail after all. She's already out of time.

She grabs for the lowered gun, pulls the other one from her waistband. There is no time left to escape from here. She'll just have to try to shoot their way through.

With an angry huff, Beckett returns back towards the entrance to the office, stands next to the hollow doorjamb missing its door and squats down to one side of the opening, the one she knows their pursuers will most likely come from and which will hopefully shield them from any direct view. She crouches like a panther, her formerly loud footsteps growing deadly silent as she signals Castle to crawl towards her as well. Her head peeks around the corner to watch the corridor where at any moment now, at least one of their kidnapers will appear.

She feels Castle crouch at her back, clumsy, uncoordinated and far louder than she'd wish for him to be, but she can't do anything about it. He's just…

She doesn't finish that thought. Better stay concentrated.

One of his hands comes to rest against at the small of her back, his trembling, cold fingers splaying wide before they fist into her shirt, desperately holding on to her. Protective and fierce, Kate extends a hand behind her; she snakes it around his body to push him even further back.

She will _not_ go down without a fight, and she won't let them take him again either, at least not while she still has a bullet in her clip and a breath in her lungs. She hopes beyond hope that it won't have to come to that, but she wants to be prepared.

She _is_ prepared.

Her grip on the gun tightens.

The corridor is still empty. She can't really understand how it's even possible their pursuers haven't walked through here already, but that's not important anymore, because distinctive loud footsteps can be heard at the very end of the corridor, the way she and Castle originally came from. It's a rather long corridor and she crouches there, a viper in wait, with Castle's cold hand brokenly gripping the back of her shirt, so vulnerable. She grips her gun even tighter, narrows her focus, pushes out the pain and fatigue, the splitting headache, putting all her concentration into this single goal.

She will get them out. She _will_ get them out.

They are searching the corridor now. Not merely passing, no. There are loud bangs and noises just down the hall, their pursuers searching the empty rooms and offices, methodically making their way down the whole long passage.

No chance they'll go unnoticed.

Beckett thinks quick and hard, weighs her options. Castle has rested for a while, so he may be able to run again. But even if they venture into the corridor, their footsteps will give them away. There is no guarantee there actually _is_ an exit at the other end, and even if there is, it's most likely already covered. And that's a gamble she isn't ready to take.

On the other hand, staying in this room means they're stuck. Two sitting ducks, of whom only one is in any state to fight back. If they come in here searching, that's it, they're done. Still. The office, despite the small gap in its boarded windows now, is inconspicuous – just one of many - in the long line of offices along the corridor.

She picked it at random, chose to hide in here because she already felt Castle losing his footing at her back, knew he wouldn't probably make it more than a couple feet without toppling over. The boarded windows and hammer were really just a matter of coincidence.

She contemplates their options, unable to decide whether to make a run for it or simply stay hidden. Instinct tells her to run, but one quick look back at Castle over her shoulder tells her all she needs to know.

He is hunched against the wall, heavily resting on his haunches, bottom nearly touching the ground. One of his hands is still tightly bunched in the fabric of her shirt, the other wound tightly across his bent legs as if trying to hold his shaky frame together. His head's buried on his knees and he has a hard time just staying quiet. Shivers and dark, shallow rasps for air wrack his whole body.

There is just no way he is running for it. And so the decision's already made.

Their pursuers are a couple of doors down the hall, must be if the loud noises they make are anything to go by. Kate quickly scans the room, looks for a place, an inconspicuous nook, to conceal themselves. There is a desk all right, a wooden, old-school office desk, with a full wooden back. She wishes there were a less clichéd and more bullet-proof place to hide, but she is out of time and options.

She turns to Castle, nudges him slightly. He opens a tired and somewhat confused eye - Kate notes with dismay - regards her silently as she points with her gun towards the desk. Crouching closer, she presses her face against the side of his face, whispers into his ear, "Quick, Castle, let's crawl behind that desk over there. Maybe we'll be lucky and they won't spot us."

She can see how the mere movement costs him. He must be at the end of his strength, yet he obeys, surprisingly quiet and stable as he creeps his way towards the desk. Beckett is hot on his heels.

The narrow space is tight, the desk too small, and there are two of them. But they manage, somehow, just in time, as loud sets of footsteps echo in the corridor just outside the office.

There must be three or four of them, Kate figures, trying to count the footsteps. They are talking, discussing directions and giving commands in no hushed voices, too secure in their own environment and numbers to care. And rightfully so.

Beckett has the gun trained in her hand, pressed against her thigh, ready to shoot at anybody foolish enough to try to get to them. The other gun she took away from the dead man is on the ground right next to her, ready to be exchanged for the first one if she empties her clip. Despite having two guns, Kate's reasonable enough to know she's definitely not skilled to shoot properly left-handed. Not to mention both-handed. Though, she won't completely disregard this option if it comes down to an outright shoot-out.

Her heart is hammering in her chest, and the loud pounding fills her ears with blood, thumping thick and heavy against her skull. Beads of sweat run down her face and she has to force her breathing to calm down. She can feel Castle's bulky, soaked frame at her back and side.

He's hunched and squeezed tightly under the table in what surely must be a highly uncomfortable or even painful position, but he doesn't utter a single word of complaint. He's a silent, steady, slightly unnerving presence at her back.

The men are rummaging through the office next door and surely, one must have poked his nose into their hiding place by now too. The trouble is, she doesn't know for sure, and she can't see, doesn't dare to sneak so much a peek. She didn't even notice when she stopped breathing, only feels her lungs burn with the lack of oxygen now, and she forces herself to draw a deep, silent, steadying breath, then another.

A hand reaches out from behind her, his thick, familiar fingers ghosting at her middle, groping around with an unusual lack of grace before they settle at the curve of her hip, close to her middle. She finds his hand in the semi-darkness with her free one, squeezes in reassurance. His hand is cold, and yet his skin is sweaty, clammy, maybe even a little numb. Nothing like the touch she is used to. And still, it's the best form of comfort she could ever wish for.

She slips her hand underneath his, flips it over so their fingers can twine, palm kiss, and Kate squeezes tight, firmly pressing their joined hands against her chest. They won't end like this, she vows, they won't end like _this_.

Montgomery's words suddenly fill her ears, the sharpness of the memory momentarily blinding her.

_There are no victories. There's only the battle. And if you're very lucky, you find someone willing to stand with you._

She presses their hands firmer against her sternum, right over her heart, gulping down the sudden lump in her throat, willing her trembling heart to settle down.

She will do anything to make them stand.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Thank you all who took the time to read and review. Some of you review anonymously, so I can't reply to you, or have disabled replies, but I just want to thank you all and let you know I read and cherish each single one of them. Now on to the next chapter. _

**Chapter 11**

She can't believe their luck.

They stay huddled under the office table for a couple of minutes longer after the men are gone, silent and unmoving, trying to blend in with the other pieces of old furniture in the room.

Their pursuers have left. Walked right past without discovering them. She's still unable to comprehend their sheer luck.

Well, technically the men didn't just _walk_ by, but moved their systematic search further down the corridor. But they went past their hiding place. Without spotting them.

She can still hear them, shouting and rummaging in the rooms at the far end of the corridor, but the imminent danger is gone.

Huddled into the tight space in a most uncomfortable position, her limbs are a paradox of sorts. They feel leaden, a deathly mass weighing her down, and yet they're so jittery they twitch of their own volition from time to time.

A loud gasp of air from behind her makes her snap back into reality, a reality where they have not yet been discovered and shot at, but that scenario might come true at any moment. Strangely, it's a reality she has a hard time coming to terms with.

She turns her upper body as best she can, her joints cracking and protesting loudly as she seeks out Castle's eyes in the dim light.

They are still alive.

He seems to have the same problem comprehending the fact as she does. His blue eyes are huge, pupils dilated, a crazy sheen glazing over his gaze. He looks slightly less frenzied, yet still so fearful, and his features are partly empty, vacated with fatigue or fear or some other deeper damage she doesn't want to think about.

She needs to get him out.

She takes a moment first, though, to bury her fingers in his still-wet hair, the pads of her fingers sliding down his face, then the side of his neck, curling around his shoulder and down one of his arms, a silent question in her face.

He answers by letting out a deep, rumbling sigh, surprising her by falling forward and into her, his face – wet and cold and clammy still – burrowing into the side of her neck. His breath is loud and hot and uneven at her collarbone, but still so much alive, and she brings her arms around him, drawing him closer into her embrace as if that could help, as if pressing her lips into the cold wetness of his hair could take all the pain and bone-deep fatigue away.

They don't have time. She knows they don't, and yet she allows them this small moment, this silent affirmation of life, because she needs it nearly as much as he does. Soon enough, way too soon, she's pressing back against him, pushing him away from the safety of her arms.

"We need to go," she murmurs, silent apology spilling across her face.

"I know," he rasps back, a corner of his mouth twitching upward in the weakest shadow of a smile.

Her heart flutters.

It's enough for now.

They crawl out from beneath the table, heavy and uncoordinated, Kate trying her best to help Castle get into a steady position.

"You think you can walk?" she asks tentatively. He gives her another tiny smile.

"My _feet_ are okay," he jokes, that echo of a playful grin still playing over his lips.

She doesn't speak further; she knows that he's downplaying how he really feels, distraction and humor his two beloved weapons in the face of misery.

They both know his feet might be okay. But his lungs aren't, if that raspy quality of his suppressed coughs is anything to go by. There is nothing she can do about that right now though, nothing but to try to get them out and lead them into safety and towards medical attention as quickly as possible.

And that's exactly what she'll do.

She turns her back to him, facing the corridor and bracing herself against everything that might lie ahead. "Stay behind me," she instructs in a whisper, one gun tucked into the belt of her jeans, the other in her hand again, the heaviness of the cool steel a familiar and comforting weight in her hand.

Xxx

She makes them walk _back_.

It might be a disastrous idea, but there's no other way. They can't proceed further into the corridor, following in the footsteps of their pursuers, but going back to the place where the original blood-bath started might turn out to be an even worse idea. There's an exit there somewhere though, and their enemy is currently eight men short – four of whom she shot and four of whom are currently looking for them on the other side of the building.

So she slowly leads them back into the lion's den again while Castle obediently follows.

They make it out of the corridor and into the large space at the front of the warehouse, hiding behind a corner as Kate's eyes quickly sweep the room. The four dead bodies are still lying there in their pools of rich, dark blood, eerily motionless. The tub stands silent and ominous, the icy water creating a glassy mirror on the surface.

Beckett gulps, forces her eyes away from that hellish sight in favor of scanning the rest of the space, focusing on the five men - wait, four men and one _woman_ – instead, currently positioned to guard the front offices along with what must be the single direct escape from this place. Five.

Seriously, how many people does one need to cover a single exit? And moreover, how many are involved in this shit?

_Dammit._

She weighs her options, Castle still eerily silent, obediently hiding behind her back.

She can take aim and take out at least two of them before the third and fourth and fifth one notice and duck, and maybe she'll even be able to take a third one quickly in the confusion as they try to figure out where the shots came from. But even if she takes out three of them – and Kate knows that's a highly optimistic scenario as it is – there'll still be three too many men left. Yet they can't stay behind this corner either; they'll just be sitting ducks here. Trapped and stalling. Even if the searching men don't come back looking for them, there is no other way but to return back the way they came - and surely walk straight into the hands of the men sent to look for them.

She feels a desperate kind of panic press down on her lungs, a heavy, achy weight she fights against with everything in her power. She's got to gulp it down for now. Just for now, just a little while longer.

Her eyes scan the room again, assessing the open spaces and the obstacles in it. She might use them to her advantage, as shields for herself and Castle. Especially for Castle – until the shoot-out is over. There are a couple of wooden crates, a pair of metal shipping containers, and an open door on one side, leading apparently into an office she didn't notice before. She won't use that one however, because she has no idea where that leads, or even whether the room is truly empty.

The containers, though smaller than average, are still large enough for a person to squat behind and look able to withstand bullets, but she won't have a clear aim from behind them, nor a good range for shooting. Also, they are a bit further down the room – there is no way they'd get there unnoticed.

The wooden crates will have to do, then.

She takes the second gun from behind her belt, considers it. She can either keep it and use it for additional ammo, leaving Castle completely defenceless, or she can give him the gun so that at least he'll have something in hand if they come for him. There's a risk that he wouldn't be able to use it at all whereas she might find herself in need of those bullets later.

This decision is even harder to make, but in the end, she switches the guns in her hands, keeps the one with the full magazine – about seventeen rounds should be enough to end this gunfight, one way or another – while silently handing the half-empty one to Castle.

"Here," she murmurs, avoiding his penetrating gaze. "Just in case," she adds on a whisper.

She is a coward. She doesn't have it in her to look him in the eye. Still, he takes the gun silently, giving a slight, grim nod in her direction.

She points to the wooden crates, watches him nod again in comprehension and silent agreement.

She meets his eyes then, can't _not_ meet them, and she finds desperate determination staring back at her. Then her eyes fall on the wetness of his shirt, the slight shiver in his shoulders, the redness of the popped veins in his eyes, and her stomach rolls with nausea at her own cowardice and feelings of misplaced togetherness.

She doesn't utter a single word.

xxx

She was right. She is able to drop two of the five people dead before anyone has even the slightest idea what's happening.

She takes her aim at a third one – the woman – but she ducks behind the metal tub just in time for Beckett's bullet to ricochet off the frame.

She curses under her breath, scans the room for the remaining two men.

Somehow Castle has split from her when she wasn't looking and disappeared around the corner behind another bunch of crates to her right, probably on his own quest to take somebody down.

She grits her teeth, hoping that in the shape he's in, with his blurry vision, he doesn't succeed in dropping _her_.

Another gunshot blasts through the space, followed by the distinctive heavy thud of a body dropping to the ground, and Kate's head whips around in panic, her eyes desperately seeking Castle, her heart hammering in her chest.

Her eyes are quick enough to spot a familiar arm tightly gripping the gun she gave him retract behind a crate, part of him shadowed as he ducks behind its side as the reciprocating bullets fire and swish through the air around him, splintering the wood over his head.

He dropped one of their kidnappers. And she had wondered whether to hand him a gun.

She uses the momentary distraction, Castle's diversion suiting her well. Peeking around the corner to assess the situation as the gunfire aimed towards Castle's cover continues, her eyes try to spot the hiding place of their two remaining enemies.

Her stomach plummets when there is a sudden halt in the firing, then the distinctive sound of hurrying feet – _lots_ of hurrying feet – coming closer from all directions, in front as well as behind.

Men. Armed men everywhere.

She shoots a panicked look in Castle's direction, sees her own despair mirrored back at her, despair and something worse, the painful hint of resignation.

"Lower your guns and come out at once you two fuckers or I swear to God I'll make you regret the day you were born!" It's the Boss's voice, cold and calculated.

She holds Castle's gaze, her breath coming in short, desperate pants, and her vision blurs. She blinks the moisture away just in time to see Castle break their eye contact in shame before lowering his gun as his feet give in and he slumps to the ground in tired defeat.

This is the end.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The situation is eerily familiar. They are both pushed down to the ground with their hands bound behind their backs by a rope wound so tight it's cutting into their flesh. The crack of her knees as they hit the ground reverberates throughout her whole body, sending a trembling pain up her legs and torso.

She's aching all over her body, and she's so physically and mentally tired she could sleep for days.

There must be another fresh bruise on the side of her head, though Kate doubts she would be able tell which one was there first. The blows and wounds to her face and head simply keep adding up, one on top of the other.

Her pulse beats thick, heavy, and pounding inside her skull, and her vision is sluggish, like her brain can't keep up with the movement of her eyes, like she's trying to run underwater, all far too dark and deep. Her head is spinning and she has a hard time keeping her head and shoulders straight.

At least Castle is relatively unscathed at her side—well, as unscathed as he was before the two of them tried to escape. But there are no fresh wounds added to his body and face, at least from what she can see.

She wishes she were in a state to appreciate this small favor, but their prospects look grim and there is no silver lining to find.

The Boss is standing in front of them, towering over their hunched, kneeling bodies, his posture radiating calm and coolness. He almost looks amused by all the commotion the two of them created, but Beckett knows there must be a raging man somewhere underneath that layer of cool, and it's only a matter of time before he shows his true self.

"I have to say, I didn't expect you two to be such a handful. I certainly underestimated you." He gives a pointed look to Castle.

"You two alone killed _seven_ of my men," the Boss states coldly. He might appear calm, but one look around the room at the rest of his goons tells another story.

"So I'm sure you'll agree with me when I say that it's only fair to pay you in the same coin.

She jerks her head up, her scull pulsing with a fierce, urgent fear, making her vision double. Despite her previous haziness, all the tiredness and fatigue, her senses strike on high alert.

Castle stirs in his spot, shuffling rather pathetically, struggling to do even so much as raise his head properly. But the Boss disregards him completely, has eyes only for Beckett. Which is bad, so, _so_ bad.

"And we both know who that one will be. Don't we, _Detective_?" He snarls the word, puts as much contempt into it as he can manage.

And indeed, his last words put a final seal on his decision, leave no room for discussion.

The only reason they are still alive is because this crazy dick thinks they know stuff, possess potentially valuable information. _Police_ information. Information a writer can hardly possess.

The weak link. The useless ride-along. _Her_ _plucky sidekick_.

A claw seizes her heart, stopping it for the shortest of moments before it starts to beat again, in an erratic, feeble, desperate beat.

"Get her in the car. We need to move."

"NO!" she rasps out, the only word that makes it past the tight fist in her throat, but it's to no avail.

It all goes so fast.

Two pairs of hands brutally seize her up by her arms, nearly yanking them out of their sockets as they roughly haul her up when she tries to stay put at Castle's side. Her legs buckle underneath her and she doesn't care.

"No, please!" she begs. "_Don't!_"

She pleads. Honest to God, she _pleads_ with them.

Her eyes are wild as she struggles against her captors, but it's no use, they drag her away anyway, always further and further from Castle. She jerks her body, trying to turn around even as her arms stay in the tight grip of the two gorillas holding her, her neck and head twisting towards Castle's hunched form, silently, resignedly kneeling on the ground, in pain yet still trying, always trying, to keep his head high.

Her eyes are already filled with tears when their eyes finally meet, and God, she sees it all there, the fear, the confusion, the love, and finally, the acceptance.

_Fuck, no! Anything but acceptance!_

They keep dragging her away, shoes scraping the concrete floor, manhandling her between them like a sack of flour — if any sack of flour ever tried to fight back, that whips her head towards the Boss, all of her tough exterior gone, all the bravado leaving her body.

"No! _Please_!" she begs him, openly and unashamedly begs for Castle's life, putting her heels down and locking her dragging feet firmly to the ground to come and stand before the man who has the power to break her. "Don't do this, please! Don't hurt him! It was me, _I_ shot your men. He's just a civilian, he has nothing to do with this! He's famous, they'll never stop looking for you. Please, _don't_-" Her voice breaks upon the wild sob, racking her body as they drag her away, her pleas falling on deaf ears and having no effect whatsoever on the man in charge.

She tries to twist, turn, fight, stay. Just stay.

"God, _Castle_," she sobs, the gap between her and Rick ever growing. "Please!" she screams, and the voice is nothing like she knows, the sound breaking free from her throat almost inhuman, but she doesn't care, just doesn't.

They are at the exit to the warehouse now, right at the door she was so desperate to get to for the past few hours, but now all it represents is a portal that will take her away from Castle and leave him all alone.

God, he's alone. And he'll be alone when they shoot him.

She hears the click of a safety going off, the clink of metal. Despite her state of utter shock, and denial, she gives a final jerk, knocking one man off balance so she can twist in her spot, seek out Castle.

So she can see. So _he_ can see. That he's not alone. God, she doesn't want him to be alone.

The barrel of the gun gets pressed against the back of his head, pushing his head forward, his bangs covering his eyes.

Time seems to slow down at this very moment. Kate stares, just _stares_, completely impotent and helpless. She doesn't blink, she can't draw a breath. The hands gripping her arms are twisting, pulling painfully. She is contorted at an impossible angle, but she doesn't care, doesn't even notice, she just stares with huge eyes, can't bring herself _not_ to look.

There is a moment of eternity, when all movement and time completely stops along the beating of her heart, a single moment when she looks at what she's about to lose. The whisper of his lips against her own, a pair of strong arms pulling her into a warming hug, hiding her broken soul in the sanctuary in the crook of his neck, the caress of his palms against her cheeks, the crook of a boyish smile as he pushes an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

Just a moment.

And then it all goes to hell. A punch in the gut makes her double over, her body curling in on itself. Her feet draw up on instinct, rise a couple of inches above the ground. Her shoulders are killing her, her muscles straining to keep her bones, her arms, attached to her body.

One of the men slams his shoulder against the heavy, metal door and it flies open, the sudden bright sun blinding her. It's midday. She is momentarily confused.

There is the slam of metal behind them as the door closes and her heart drops like a stone in her chest.

She stands in bright light, her eyes squinting against the onslaught of light, but nothing penetrates the thick, black veil that's fallen over her, no ray touches her ashen soul, a deep abyss opened wide inside her chest.

_Castle._

The men don't stop. They pull her onwards and away, dragging her limp body along. Her shoes scrape the pavement, all of her body burning with pain in their vice-like grip. She wants to fight them, wants to fight them _so badly_, but she has no strength left. She wishes she had, she really does, because it's still not over, he's still not-

A gunshot echoes from inside the warehouse. And then another. And another. The sounds are muted, but they still blast loudly inside her head.

"Castle," she whispers, her voice breathless with grief. _Castle._

He's dead.

_Castle's dead._

Kate keens, gasping, sinks down and collapses completely in the men's grip, letting them drag her wherever they might. She couldn't care less.

She curls in on herself, preparing for the hit of pain once the fact starts to sink in, once she realizes this is happening for real, no close call. For real.

She knows what lies ahead of her, no matter how long she has left to live, knows the kind of pain she'll have to face, a pain worse than any wound she's ever suffered. She is already sinking into it, that wild grief, her eyes full of blinding sun and unshed tears and regrets she'll never have a chance to amend.

There is more gunfire coming from inside the warehouse now, but she doesn't care.

The two pairs of hands suddenly, simultaneously drop her, and she falls to the concrete pavement, her body cracking, breaking. She wants to pull herself together, bring herself to her knees. Please, let them shoot her now, just get it over with.

But her hands are still tightly bound behind her back and she can't find it in herself to push herself up.

So she lies still, hopes it will go quickly and painlessly.

So unlike her. So unlike Detective Beckett. She has a hard time remembering what Kate Beckett would do in such a situation.

Would she face her executioners? Would she stay calm? _Could_ she stay calm in the face of death?

Kate doesn't know. Doesn't care. She's so tired.

More gunfire and shouts. Running feet. Her captors are nowhere to be seen, and in their place another couple of people emerge at the outskirts of her vision. She can only see their feet and even those are blurred.

She doesn't make an effort to stand, even though somewhere in the back of her brain, she knows she's probably wasting a good chance to escape, a one-time window of opportunity. But she can't find the strength. So she simply lies there, crying in a pitiful, broken, aching heap.

Castle is dead.

_Oh, God, Rick._

_Rick is dead._

More feet coming closer, more voices and shouts. Occasional gunfire.

She should really start to look around, pay attention to what's happening around her. She really should.

Sound of doors flying open, then the slam of metal against metal. That final sound of the metal door closing.

She curls into an even tighter ball and weeps, her forehead touching the ground as it swallows her up, the overwhelming, crippling nothing.

_Castle's dead._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

It takes an eternity. Or that's what she thinks as she lies there. But it doesn't matter, for time has lost its meaning.

"Beckeeeeeeeeeeeeeett?!"

The voice is familiar. Ryan. It's Ryan.

But it's too late. He's late.

"Over here!" he shouts again, somewhere closer, then a heavy thud as he falls to his knees beside her. His rapid movements bring a slight breeze along, causing her hair to tumble over her face, blinding her. She doesn't care.

A gentle hand brushes it away, but there's something wrong with the touch, with the hand itself. Not familiar. Gentle enough, but the feeling still _wrong_.

"Beckett?" Ryan calls softly, somewhere close to her ear. She doesn't move. She can't. Everything aches.

"_Kate?_"

He nearly never calls her Kate. Must be bad. He must already know. Oh, God. He _knows_.

"Are you hurt?"

She can't find it in her to reply. She hurts. Oh, God, she _hurts_.

"Stupid question. The bus's already on the way, just hang on."

The pressure in her wrists loosens, her shoulders spasming with sudden release. The pain is blinding. It's strangely welcoming, the sharpness of the burn pushing all else from her mind for a second before it all crashes back to her with a sickening speed.

"_God, Castle._" She croaks, her voice breaking on his name, her throat clotted with grief.

"Don't worry, Esposito's got it covered. Already went in after him."

A moan breaks free from her throat, her forehead grinding against the hot concrete of the dock as she shakes her head in denial.

Too late. They're too late. All of them. They don't know, but they will know soon enough.

A pair of tender hands, yet so different from Castle's, are turning her over now, pulling her up to sit, then holding her upright when she nearly topples again.

Everything aches and pulls. Too tight. Her clothes, her _skin_, everything pulls, too tightly wound around her bones and flesh.

But she sits. She sits because they made her sit, whoever they are, made her stare into space, eyes unseeing. Still seeing too damn much.

_He's dead._

Blaring sirens everywhere. Police as well as medical. Her eyes narrow at last, sharpen their focus. She looks around dazedly. The place is swirling with cops.

_All of them too late. Just a couple minutes too late. If she had stalled them...if she had just managed to stall them long enough... _

She can't bear the thought.

"How did you find us?" she whispers instead. Her mind is blurry. She is in a haze, feels like she's walking under water. But she wants to know. Needs to know.

"Castle's panic button," utters Ryan, relief in his voice. So misplaced, she thinks.

It's like a slap to her face. Her eyes zero in on the younger detective's face, so close to her own she jerks back. Huh. She didn't notice he was that close.

It doesn't make sense. Nothing does but the pain in her head and grief in her heart.

"What?" she rasps out in confusion, the only thing she can get past her lips, past her befuddled mind.

"You don't know?" Ryan looks surprised. Why the hell does he look so surprised? Why the hell isn't he devastated? Castle's dead. _Dead_. Nobody should be this well off when … No one.

"He installed a panic button app on the screen of his phone, had it ever since that secret case with the CIA. Told us he got the idea from there. It forwards an SOS along with his current GPS coordinates directly to Espo's phone. I'm surprised you didn't know this…." He looks genuinely surprised.

She's staring at him now, mouth slightly hanging open while he gives her that trademark sheepish look of his. Her head is killing her, the pain that was just a dull ache at the outskirts of her consciousness just moments ago now coming back to her with the quick fade of adrenaline.

"We thought it was funny, you know," utters Ryan hesitatingly, his hands still supporting her in a sitting position. "And obnoxious as hell, since he managed to press it at least twice by accident in the past couple of months." He smiles briefly before his face grows solemn again. "But it was really useful today. We figured out you guys were gone pretty quickly, but we had no idea where to start looking for you. Until about an hour ago, when we found the automated message from Castle's panic call button. I am sorry it took us that long," says Ryan, sharp regret and something like shame suddenly clouding his eyes. "It's my fault. In our haste to go to Warner's place, I made Espo leave his phone on his desk. I got a missed call on my phone, but when I tried to call you back, the phone was already off. We found Castle's message only once we came back to the precinct. It was time stamped around the time your call was, when we were checking out the house."

Her eyes stare blankly at him, growing dry with the lack of blinking. She has a lump the size of a fist obstructing her throat. A couple of hours ago…he left them a message a couple of hours ago. He had his phone…he had his phone in his hand … had that triumphant look in his eye. She didn't understand it then. Oh God, she didn't understand.

They were too late anyway.

Her eyes blur with the pain that suddenly pounds in her head. She feels sick, sways even as she sits on her haunches.

"I'm so sorry Beckett. We should have checked that we both had our phon—"

"I didn't know," she rasps, quickly cutting through his apology. "I didn't know about the app." A blatant deflection. But she doesn't want to hear them, the apologies. She can't listen to them right now.

The sun is bright in her eyes, intensifying the pain in her skull. Good. She finds it oddly comforting, embraces the feel of anything else but the gaping hole in her heart.

"I thought…" murmurs Ryan, "I thought you knew." He's uncomfortably fidgeting in his spot, she can see in her peripheral vision. Everything is suddenly so much brighter than she remembers, to the point where she has to squeeze her eyes shut against it.

"You know," he continues, stumbling over his words when all she wishes is for him to shut up. Just _shut up_ or she'll lose it. He doesn't seem to take the hint as he clumsily plows through his words. "It was on his _phone_…we just assumed…." He cuts short when he sees her eyes well with sudden tears.

She had no idea. She is his goddamned girlfriend, shared his bed, and still, she had no idea?

The heavy, drowning thrum of the pain in her heart that's been trying to drag her down and drown her for the past couple of minutes flares to life again, and ignites a firing inferno inside her chest, the pain searing, burning, too acute and choking.

She falls forward, burying her head into Ryan's shoulder.

"He's dead," she whispers against the darkness of his Kevlar. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't stall them long enough, I tried but—." She's choking on her sobs, her tears staining Ryan's shirt. She's in the middle of a crime scene, the place crawling with dozens of officials, cops and medical personnel alike. And she's on her knees, a sobbing heap crying into the shoulder of colleague, her _friend_, and she can't make herself stop. _"He's dead,"_ she repeats again, bone-crushing grief coating her voice.

"_What_?" Ryan shakes his head. "No! No, no no no. Kate, _no_."

He continues talking, but she doesn't hear him. All she can hear is the sound of the three shots that sealed Castle's fate echoing in her head over and over again in a loop. Every shot sends a fresh wave of searing pain through her skull, the nausea rolling her stomach.

Oh God. It's only now really starting to sink in, her grief bleeding into her skin, seeping into her bones. She's drowning in it. Ryan is still supporting her, arms tight around her as he tries to keep her upright, but it only makes it worse.

"Over here!" he calls, involuntarily jerking her frame as he beckons somebody closer.

"Kate? Oh God, what's wrong with her?"

She freezes, a strangled sob never making it past her lips. She wipes her head around, feels her vertebrae crack and neck muscles spasm, a fresh wave of pain and nausea running through her aching body.

"_Kate!_"

Oh God.

It's Castle walking towards her, _Castle_, alive and whole, supported by Esposito as he makes his way towards her as quickly as he can on his shaky feet. _It's him. _ It's truly _him_.

When they finally reach her, he immediately sinks to the ground, right next to where she sits shocked into stillness, his breath rattling in his chest.

It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense but oh God, let it be true.

She still hasn't moved, but then a hand caresses her face, pushes her hair behind her ear in a familiar gesture, and it's the right hand this time. It's _right_. All of a sudden, she doesn't care what reality this is anymore, as long as he's in it. His arms fall around her at the same time as she brings her own hands crashing around him, pulling him close in a death grip.

Oh God, it's really him, so much alive against her chest.

She can hear Esposito and Ryan chatting quietly, worriedly exchanging words just above them, but her mind is pushing out the noise, and concentrating only on Castle's solid frame filling her arms, his scent filling her nose.

"I thought—" she croaks against the side of his head, her hands grabbing fistfuls of hair, "I thought they killed you."

"_No_," he whispers, grief gripping his voice. "No, Kate, no. No no no no." He repeats it over and over, right into her ear, as if that one word alone could banish from her head the sounds of the three shots killing him.

"I heard—I heard them _shoot_ you," she argues. She needs the facts, needs to understand in order to accept, and all the while she fights to stop her teeth from chattering for no apparent reason.

"That was—" his breath rattles in his chest and he has to take a minute in order to continue, "—was Espo. Taking them down. Rifle," he adds for clarification.

She wants to raise her head, thank her brother for saving her lover's life, but she can't bring herself to untangle herself from Castle, still unable to trust herself, trust that he's truly here, _alive_.

More noises fill the air around them, more footsteps pounding heavily on the concrete, drilling a hole inside her skull. Closing in on her, always closing in. But she doesn't care. She's safe, for now, she's safe with Castle. Ryan and Espo watching over them. Nothing can touch her now. Nothing.

She's fine.

xxx

"_Kate._"

She rouses.

Huh?

Somebody's gripping her shoulder, shaking not so gently. "Kate."

Her eyes hurt. Damn, her eyes hurt. So much. Her head feels like it's exploding, face on fire.

_Castle._

A moment of panic grips her chest. He's dead. He was shot. But no, _no_. His arms are still around her, holding her close, her face still pressed to his shoulder inhaling his scent.

He's still alive. They're fine. Safe. Ryan and Espo watching them. All's good. She must just have dozed off. No big deal. Her eyes fall shut again.

"Kate!" the voice calls again, more urgent now. Castle's voice, his deep, beautifully rich voice. Thank God, it's his voice. He's alive. "Kate? C'mon, stay awake for me."

She does. She is. Isn't she?

There is concern there, heavy and thick on his tongue, and she fights the sudden urge to laugh. Would probably make her look even crazier, but really. Really? Is he really going to be worried about _her_ now? Her?

"The ambulance—" he rasps. "The paramedics are here."

_Good._

Paramedics are good. They will help him. Check him over. He needs help. His lungs. The drowning. Oh God, the drowning. It makes her shiver.

She burrows her face deeper into his shoulder, her nose against the cool skin of his neck.

Hmm. He smells good. She wants to taste him, stick out her tongue and drag it across the fine skin there, over the goose bumps her touch would surely evoke. But she can't even muster the energy to push her tongue past her lips, she's so damn tired. So bone-deep tired.

She's definitely spending the night at his loft. Just the two of them. His bed is large. And comfy. She can keep him warm. Yeah, sounds like a plan.

"Kate!" his voice is louder now, urgent and more than a little panicked. She doesn't understand. They are alright, they are safe. So why does he sound so panicky?

"C'mon Kate, wake up. Wake up for me."

Something in his tone makes her head jerk up, the movement sending sharp needles of pain straight through her skull. She forces her eyes open, makes the effort even if it's killing her. The light is blinding and she can't sharpen her focus, her vision strangely fuzzy around the edges.

"Let me," another voice says from behind. "Miss?"

"_Detective,"_ Castle's voice corrects with a hiss. It makes her want to smile. She would, too, if she had the strength to lift the corners of her mouth.

A hand is yanking at her shoulder now, trying to pull them apart. She panics, grips him even tighter. She won't let them split the up. Not again.

She claws at his shoulders, refusing to let go even as more voices, more hands, try to join in. "_No!_" she shouts, the stubborn cry slipping out instinctively. The hands stop their yanking, the voices fall silent. Finally. She clings to him even tighter.

"Kate." The softness, the care in his voice, makes her want to weep. "You need to let them take care of us."

He runs his hands down her spine, then her arms, intertwining their fingers when he reaches her hands. Then he raises his hands to her shoulder, and starts to push, gently but firmly, the traitor, managing finally to unglue her from his frame.

It's not fair. She doesn't want to let go. Rationally, she understands what they are saying. Still, it's not easy to do as they ask. Her whole being screams at her not to let go. She sighs, lets her hands fall to her sides at last, and presses a blind, hidden kiss to a pulsating vein just underneath his ear as she pulls away.

Oh, wow.

They are still on the concrete ground at the docks, the sun shining madly, once again blinding her. She closes her eyes against the sharp pain the light causes her. How long have they been here already?

"I think she may have a heavy concussion. She was repeatedly hit over her face and head," she can hear Castle's voice, but it sounds off. Muffled or…from afar? No, he's right here. So why does he sound so strange?

And why is he the one listing her injuries? Why are they even talking about _her_ at all, when _he_ was the one who could barely stand on his own two feet only a couple of moments ago?

Another pair of hands, gentle but firm – gloved – seize her head. More light in her eyes. She closes her eyes shut against it, pulling away from the offending source. A flashlight. Seriously, who puts a flashlight in your eyes when you feel like crap? She's irritated by both sound and sight, but they just keep on talking, _loudly_, wanting her to look directly into the flashlight now, but she can't do it, just _can't_. She flaps her hands feebly in front of her, tries to slap away the hand with the offending penlight.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows this is standard procedure. But she feels funny. Her stomach rolls. Really badly.

"I think…I think…." She doesn't have time to finish that sentence as she suddenly retches, vomiting violently on the concrete ground, hoping beyond hope she didn't get anybody.

A pair of hands pushes her into a lying position, keep her pinned there and she doesn't understand why. She will be fine. "Castle," she whispers, but isn't able to finish her thought. She's weak all of a sudden, her world spinning.

"I'm here, Kate." His voice is raspy, labored, but he's still there, strong and solid. A constant in her life. Has she ever told him that? How much his presence means to her? She should. Oh she should.

A hand caresses her face. She doesn't remember much after that.

She knows that she's being moved onto a gurney and into an ambulance, the procedure more painful than she would expect. Her head is killing her, her chest is aflame with a fresh wave of pain.

She knows that Ryan is riding with her, can just barely make out his figure in the darkness of the ambulance.

She asks about Castle. Numerous times. But Ryan's answers always seem to elude her and she can't recall what he says.

So she asks again. He replies something but she doesn't understand what it is.

She dozes off, then jerks awake again. Asks about Castle again.

Her head is killing her and she desperately wants to sleep. But she can't. She's afraid she'll be alone when she wakes.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

She is so tired, yet they keep asking her all of these questions, questions she has a very difficult time answering.

They prod and nudge her, look over her injuries, cover her face in an odd smelling cream and take her blood for testing. They make X-Rays of her chest, do a CAT scan of her brain, bandage her abused wrists and test her ribs for cracks, arm muscles for tears.

But she's fine. She really is. Nothing a long night of sleep and some strong prescribed Advil won't help.

The doctors seem to think otherwise. A strong concussion is just the start, along with abrasions to her face and all over her body, heavy bruising on her ribs, physical abuse and a mysterious drug in her system they still haven't figured out. Mental trauma is being implied, but this is something she doesn't want to look at too closely right now.

They give her something for the pain, patch her up as best as they can. Try to make her rest, order her to come for a check-up in a couple of days.

Otherwise, she was fairly lucky. Nothing that won't heal with time, no permanent damage. She wishes she could say the same about Castle too, but she doesn't know yet. She just doesn't know, and it's driving her crazy, the uncertainty and the heavy pounding in her head, the bone-deep ache in her limbs. She...she's just so damn tired.

Ryan stays with her the whole time, won't leave her side. She would find it annoying, infuriating even, if she could find the strength in her, and if Ryan didn't have the one thing she so desperately needed. Information.

He has a phone and she doesn't. So he's vital for her at the moment. She makes him call Esposito as often as he's willing to bend to her narrowed glare, which, even in spite of her weakened state, is still fairly effective.

She can tell Javier's not impressed with the frequency of the calls, but she doesn't care. He's the one who's watching over Castle, and that's the only thing currently keeping her in place and not bolting out of here in search for him. If not for the fact that Castle's in good hands and she's being updated, she would be looking now.

He's having his own series of exams right now, so there would be no use in trying to track him down. Still, she wants to, with her whole, still-trembling heart. She doesn't want him to be alone. Or…without her. She doesn't want to be without him right now, either.

Well, at least he's not alone, she knows he isn't. There is Espo, and Martha and Alexis have been notified too and are probably on their way. Still. They weren't there. None of them were. They don't know, have no idea what he's been through. And though she doesn't have the slightest idea of how to even approach the subject with him yet, she wants to be there for him. In any form or capacity he will let her.

_Well, not yet happening_, she thinks with a heavy sigh.

She's jittery, sitting on the hard hospital mattress, the white, bleached sheets scratchy under her bare legs. Oh, how she just hates the hospital gowns, hates the way she has to be careful not to flash her nearly naked ass to Ryan or other visitors to the ER anytime she goes to the bathroom or just walks around the corridors. Although, thank God, for most of her exams, she was wheeled in.

And she is tired. Did she say she's tired already? 'Cause she's really tired. Her head is throbbing, half her face puffy and tender to the touch. She has a hard time opening one of her eyes and doesn't want to even think about the way she must look right now, hunched over on the narrow hospital bed, curled at an odd angle at one side, the one that aches so excruciatingly because Warner slammed it into the door.

She feels like shit. She must _look_ like shit.

But that's not the worst of it. The worst of it comes when her eyes fall shut and the images start assaulting her tired, defenseless brain.

Her hands are still trembling so badly she has to fist them into the sheet in order for Ryan not to notice, her heart a scared little bird in her chest, trashing and trembling at the thought of how close they came today, how this could have ended so very differently if Ryan and Espo haven't found them in time.

A lump the size of a fist clogs her throat all of a sudden, her one good eye swimming with sudden tears. Oh God, she can't. Not here, not now. Not _yet_.

The privacy curtain around her bed suddenly slides over, revealing a short, plump woman in her forties. Green scrubs and short, practically cut hair, Beckett's glad her attending doctor doesn't take the time to notice her distress. She doesn't mince words either.

"I've got good news for you, detective Beckett. We can discharge you." Curt and efficient seems to be the woman's motto and Kate certainly can't complain about that.

"Put on your clothes and ask the nurse for the release papers. Sign and you are free to go." The woman smiles, amused when she sees Kate already grabbing for the bag of clothes under her bed. "Not so fast," the doctor warns. "On one condition only." Kate's eyes narrow at her, but the woman doesn't flinch away. "You need to stay with a trusted person tonight, just in case. Somebody to monitor your sleep. For the concussion. Do you have someone like that?"

Kate's eyes wander towards Ryan. She won't be staying with him, of course she won't, but they both share the same thought. There are a lot of people in their lives who she could be staying with. Her father, for starters. Then Lanie, Espo, Maddie, even a few other people from the precinct. But they both know she isn't leaving the hospital without Castle tonight, whether they keep him overnight or not. But she isn't leaving without him.

The doctor must take their silence for a confirmation because she continues in that same curt tone. "Also, don't forget, get as much rest as you can, night and day, throughout the next few weeks, also, no unnecessary physical and mental exercise in this time. Ease back into your job slowly, stay at the desk at first. Trust me, it will pay off. Here," she hands Kate a paper, "It's a prescription for your pain medication, for your head and…everywhere else." Her eyes pointedly wonder over Kate's abused body and she has to suppress and urge to roll her eyes. The doctor doesn't even bat an eye, presses a piece of paper into her hand. "Here's a leaflet about concussion. Make the person staying with you tonight read it and watch out for possible symptoms listed on it, and come immediately back in if anything occurs, alright?"

Kate merely nods, and even the small gesture fires pain in small needles straight to her brain.

"Okay, off you go," the doctor smiles at last, giving Kate's arm a light squeeze. "Take care, Detective." With that, she leaves the small space behind the seeming privacy of the flimsy curtain.

She and Ryan stay alone, Beckett pressing the plastic bag holding all her belongings tightly to her chest. She needs to get out of her, go see Castle, but in order to do that, she needs to change. And in order to do that…

Kate slowly looks at Ryan, her one eye fixing him with a pointed look. Only then does he take the hint, his face growing warm as he stutters. "Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry. I'll be waiting… outside."

"Oh, wait," he says as if on second thought, extending his hand and taking the piece of paper from her hand. "Let me fill these in for you while you change. I'll also try to find a nurse to bring you the release form you need to sign."

He's about to leave when she catches him by the wrist.

"Thanks, Ryan."

He only smiles back at her, that charming, boyish smile of his. "Anytime, Beckett."

It takes her extremely long to dress herself, her battered and bruised body only now starting to flare with vicious pain. The pain medication doing absolutely nothing to ease the ache in the various parts of her body. Her brain is still kind of foggy, but the pain appears to keep her focused. At least there's that.

She is fastening the last button on her shredded, bloodied blouse when Ryan returns with the papers and her pills, clearing his throat behind the screen before he enters.

He's a good colleague, a good partner and an even better friend.

She has never really told him that, has she? She needs to tell him, he should know.

_Soon_. She promises herself, her feet slowly touching the ground as she carefully lowers herself from the bed to stand.

She will tell her friend what a wonderful man he is. She just has to find somebody first.

xxx

Kate sighs, trying to rearrange her battered body in a manner that won't make her every fiber flare up in pain. The plastic chair is hard and unforgiving and she has to work hard to suppress the tears of misery and fatigue. She can't let her complete enervation show though, can't allow herself to show any sign on weakness because she will be promptly sent home to rest, if the scrutinizing looks of her present company are anything to go by.

Lanie, Esposito, Ryan, Martha and Alexis all gaze up at her in turns, taking in her bruised and battered face, her hazy, reddened eyes. But more than what's visible on the outside, they probably wonder what's happening inside her, unable to approximate the scope of the invisible, mental scars inflicted upon her – upon the both of them – in the previous hours.

Their loved ones already know pieces, information absolutely necessary for them to know. Kidnapped while trying to take in a suspect, held in the docks for several hours, being beaten and abused until rescued thanks to Castle's phone hours later.

Yet that's all they really know so far, and Kate's glad for that small favor. She has managed to keep all the details to herself so far, has not yet shared any of them with their family and friends. She will hold them tightly to her chest for as long as she can, even when the burden threatens to break her from inside out.

The pair of detectives from the 12th who have been assigned the case have already visited and taken her preliminary statement. With her state of mind and the officially ruled concussion however, they all agreed it best to wait a day or two before they fully question her. She told them a more detailed yet still firmly clinical version of what they've been through. And it nearly broke her. She has no idea how she's supposed to do this again, do this in full detail, how to share something she has yet to come to terms with herself.

She'll cross that bridge when she comes to it. The force of the memories that flash through her mind at random moments are enough to handle right now. They leave her breathless and aching and more than a little lost to panic, but still she sits there, stoic and motionless in the plastic seat, waiting.

She tries to steer her mind back to the conversation she had with the team assigned to their case, tries to occupy her mind with something that's _not_ Castle being tortured. She purposefully thinks about the part of their conversation that revolved around the place their captors called _transition_, about the girls they could hear for the brief time they were being held there.

They got the news only a couple of minutes ago. An older detective from the 27th came by to tell them the news as a courtesy to them for breaking their case wide open. The squad has managed to find the underground prison, rescue the girls, aged 14-28, all of them, well…_alive_. They've been pumped with unknown drugs, beaten repeatedly, held prisoners for any considerate length of time, malnourished and forced to have involuntary sex with strangers. Victims of human trafficking, European girls mostly, but also some American and Asian, snatched from the street or a bar, held for prostitution, being pumped with drugs…the list of offences went on and on. What she and Castle went through was merely the tip of the iceberg, the both of them could count themselves lucky to have survived at all. Having been the ones to discover the girls – the fact that the two of them were held as captives at that time obviously does not matter at all – might even bring them a medal of honor, the detective said.

It doesn't feel much like a victory to Kate. Sure, she is glad for having contributed to dislodging a human trafficking ring, but the price, oh the price seems too high for that. She doesn't know what kind of person that makes her, but the price of the images currently running on repeat behind her closed lids simply feels too high.

The detective leaves with a promise to keep them updated, but she doesn't care right now. Maybe she will later, but for now, all she can focus on is to try to hold herself together, to look less like a _victim_ and more like the trained officer of law she is. A trained official isn't supposed to be a victim. That's why she became a cop in the first place, to escape that label, to make sure she'd never be turned into a victim ever again.

So she sits there, in the plastic chair of the waiting room with their friends and family, gritting her teeth and using every ounce of her depleted strength to simply hold herself together for a little longer. At least until she knows that he's alright.

She manages, but only barely.

She kind of feels sorry for Dr. Burke – the poor man will have to set up a whole new file for her.

But that's just another matter to deal with later. Right now, all she needs is to appear normal, hold her frayed nerves together and stay patient. She has to be patient. And normal. Normally patient.

Only then does she notice how her leg bounces off the ground, up and down, up and down, way too quick and out of her control, and she forces it to stop abruptly, presses the heel of her hand against her knee for good measure. A bouncing leg counts as _not_ normal. Her knee twitches in response, that little traitor.

She has already had it up to here with being observed like some kind of unstable mental institution patient. Okay, yeah. She's had a rough day, is pretty banged up, and her attending doctor has cleared her to go home to start recovering. She's been through a trauma and suffered a concussion and she needs to rest and _not_ sit in a hospital waiting room.

Her companions – nearly each one in turn – have already tried to convince her to call it a night, to go _home_, Lanie even on more than one occasion, but what they don't understand is that she just _can't_ go home, she really can't. Kate's not stupid, she knows there isn't much she can do here, she even knows that if the hospital decides to keep him for the night – which it most certainly will – she _will_ have to go home eventually at some point.

But she needs to see him with her own eyes – well, at least her one good eye – before she can so much as consider going anywhere. She just can't leave before she makes sure that he's alright. And when she does go home, she knows it will be only to pretend to fall sleep in her cold, pointedly empty bed.

_Two sets of rough hands push his head under the water, Castle's body twitching and jerking in silent agony and pain. She is screaming her head off and yet, the torture won't stop. Not until the very last moment. Not until he's nearly drowned for good. _

She snaps her eyes open, wills the sharp images to disappear, gulping down the heavy lump that's formed in her throat again, gagging her. Her stomach rolls but she wills the feeling away too, blames it on the concussion more than anything else.

She must have dozed off. Damn. _Not yet. _She runs her hands over her face, rubs at the not-bruised parts. She needs to keep awake. Needs to keep the most horrific images of the day safely at bay. At least for now.

So she waits. Her head occasionally drops as fatigue claims her, her body slightly shivering in the sudden coldness of the room. It feels like her feet are going to give way any time. Her body will turn to jelly and she'll just slide down the plastic chair to the floor.

She grits her teeth, plants her feet more firmly against the worn linoleum.

Maybe her friends were right. Maybe she should have gone home. A long time ago. Should have taken some rest, come and visit in the morning with fresh eyes. But although she signed her release papers over an hour ago, Castle's still being examined. And that just doesn't feel right. It's _not_ right. Not okay. Not acceptable.

They are partners.

_They are in this together. _

And so she waits.


	15. Chapter 15

_N/A: Ok. So here it is. The last chapter of this story. Thank you all who have read and reviewed and favored and signed in for alerts. It meant so much to me._

_This story might be over, but there are still so many others to be told. I really hope I'll be able to find the time and continue writing fics, maybe shorter ones, since real life is chasing my ass pretty bad right now. BUT, the new season is starting soon and it might once again poke my muse, hard, and then I'll make damn sure I find the time necessary to write.:) _

_Until then, thank you all for reading and for all your wonderful reactions!_

_Enjoy the last chapter._

_One more note. I want to thank _**ebfiddler**_ and _**nik47 **_for being so wonderful, patient, understand, funny, sweet and helpful betas they are. Girls, THANK YOU!_

* * *

**Chapter 15**

First stages of drowning. Little amounts of water in lungs, in need of careful monitoring. Moderate hypothermia being the reason for his violent shivering and uncoordinated movements. Deep tissue bruising, abrasions and lacerations, mostly on his face, knees and wrists. Drugged with yet to be determined unknown substance. Cardiac arrhythmia – one of the more severe results of the drowning experience and the main reason they'll be keeping him through the night.

She listens to the doctor unemotionally listing all of Castle's injuries and diagnoses. She takes it in, stores it in her brain for further examination later, because she can't really deal with it right now. Not when his family and friends are gaping at the man and his words. Unavoidably, all of their eyes turn to _her_ in the end, seeking answer she isn't ready to give just yet.

Drowning. He's been _drowned_. Tortured. And she was there right with him.

She has all the answers but she can't give them, not to those who matter most.

She can see it in their eyes, the silent questions. They don't accuse, merely inquire, with no small amount of horror. But she is a coward. And so she looks away.

Nothing the doctor has to say sounds good.

And yet.

He will pull through. Heal completely with time. No permanent damage.

Physically, that is. Nobody mentions the mental baggage he will have to carry for the rest of his life. It's too early for that particular thought anyway. For the moment, they have to heal his body. Only then can they start working on healing his soul.

Kate wonders how much Castle's really told them, the doctors, how much he's revealed. It shouldn't be a secret, he shouldn't feel the need to feel apprehensive about what was done to him. If nothing else, today he proved how strong-willed and tough he really is, how brave in the face of a thing that would make a lesser man quake with fear.

Still.

It's not as simple as that. She should know. After all, she is the one burning a hole into the linoleum right now, her eyes shying away from her friends and family. It shouldn't be a secret, yet there is still so much at stake, so much possible damage to be done to the people they love by simply telling them the truth. She wants to spare them, for as long as possible, and knows with absolute certainty Castle would do the same.

They will tell them. Eventually, their friends and family will know. Just not now. Not right now. Telling the assigned detectives has been hard enough, one too many times already. She is not ready, has absolutely no strength, to repeat what happened today again tonight, and certainly not to their friends and his family.

So she keeps silent, letting the doctor's words buzz around her ears, only half listening as she concentrates hard on ignoring her friends' attention. Instead, she tries to control her breathing.

It takes a moment, but she is able to control the amount of oxygen getting in and out, able to find a proper equilibrium, and with that, other sorts of control over her body, and her life, return to her as well.

Sometimes, it can be as simple as that. Proper breathing. Slow. In and out.

There are some hushed noises, between Lanie and the boys, between Martha and Alexis, and then, finally, the doctor says what she's been really waiting for this whole damn time. Visitation, the time they will be allowed to see him before they scatter home for the night. They can _finally_ go see him.

xxx

Alexis is the one throwing herself at her father first only to hesitate at the very last moment right in front him, unsure if a full blown hug would be safe enough.

Rick's sitting up, an oxygen tube running under his nose and his arm attached to an IV line, his chest bare and dotted with small pads that Kate recognizes as the EKG electrodes to monitor his heart function.

He blinks, surprised at the sudden rush of people around him before his eyes focus on the person closest to him, her copper hair flying bright and shiny when she beds down to kiss her father's cheek. He gives his daughter a heart-stopping smile, offering his outstretched arms in invitation instead and the girl sinks into the embrace, careful yet strong.

Kate's heart leaps in her chest, a mangled knot forming in her throat, and she has to bite her lip, hard, in order to push back the sudden wetness blurring her eyes. It was way too close this time.

The room is small as it is but with all the visitors inside, it appears even smaller. Espo, Ryan and Lanie are there for the shortest time, just to say hi really, make sure Castle knows they are there for him. The boys warmly pat him on the back, speak words of appraisal and some good natured jibing, the masculine way of saying _"I'm glad you're okay."_ Lanie squeezes his arm and, to Beckett's surprise, presses a kiss to his cheek. Kate's heart swells a little at that, trembles warmly in her chest. It's a really sweet gesture, of all of them, and she wishes there were a way to thank them, to express how much their friendship and care means to her, to the both of them.

They clear the room quickly enough after that and it's only she and the Castle clan now, Rick and his two favorite redheads along with her, Kate, his partner and girlfriend.

She stands a bit to the back, partially hidden behind Martha, observing the scene in front of her, Rick's daughter sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning into her father's side, his mother above them, holding her son's hand, eyes slightly blurry but a brave tremulous smile on her lips.

And Kate feels suddenly shy for no reason, unable to make a step further towards him even if that's the only thing she's currently craving. Well, that and a glass of scotch for her frayed nerves and the feel of a warm, soft bed supporting her battered frame.

But mostly, she just wants Castle, safe and sound and _close_, but still, she doesn't make a move towards him, lets his daughter and mother be the only source of comfort.

She's being stupid. Utterly stupid. She's his girlfriend, she should be right there along with them. And still, something holds her back as she intentionally positions herself in the role of an outside observer of their family. A family she maybe shouldn't be a part of? Okay, she's being a coward.

Castle is smiling warmly at his daughter now, shoots a more serious look at his mother over the girl's head though, an understanding passing between the two of them that nearly steals Kate's breath away. She always knew he had a good relationship with his mother, despite his frequent and loud bickering about Martha's parenting qualities, but at this moment, it'd be obvious to anyone just how deep that bond goes. She shouldn't really be surprised, this is Castle after all, a man who doesn't know other than to love fiercely and foolishly, with his heart always wide open, so easy to hurt. And yet, he does it all the time, over and over again.

He's pressing his daughter close to him now, pushes a kiss against the copper crown of her hair, whispers something into her ear that makes the girl smile. Such a good man.

And then his eyes finally scan the room further, looking for something, _someone_, and before Beckett knows they finally settle on her, his shoulders suddenly sagging in what can only be described as relief, a heavy sigh leaving his lips at the sight of her. He holds her eyes, so much unsaid simmering right under the surface of those blue pools.

"Kate."

It's just that single word that breaks the spell, renders her free as she takes the three quick strides to his bed and stops at his side, along with his mother. In order to get closer, she has to step forward a little, right between Martha and her son, but she hopes his mother doesn't mind. As if reading her thoughts, Martha wordlessly takes a few steps back, her hand gently pushing Beckett even closer to Castle's bed before she walks around to the other side.

"Hey," Kate whispers, bringing up her hand to run her fingers through his hair. "How are you?"

She's assessing him, running her eyes up and down his body, making a mental inventory of his cuts and bruises despite knowing the real damage lies far deeper beneath the layers of skin and tissue.

He seems to be doing the same, cataloguing her injuries; the black eye, heavily bruised face, mangled wrists. His eyes glide down her throat and her chest, where the heavy bruising continues in a line directly down her chest before disappearing under the line of her shirt. A short that's now so much worse for the wear than it was this morning—was it really only this morning? It seems so long ago—when she pulled it on before his very eyes.

"You okay?" he rasps unsteadily, completely disregarding her own question, his eyes once again seeking hers. She nods, unable to talk through the big lump in her throat, her heart trembling in her chest at the look he's giving her. There is so much care yet so much concern there as he waits for her to talk, so she gulps the lump down her throat, conquers her frayed emotions.

"Yeah, fine," she manages. He looks skeptical, so she adds, "Heavy concussion, some bruising and abrasions that look worse than they are." She illustrates by pointing to her face unnecessarily, feeling restless under his fierce scrutiny.

There is more, so much _more_ to be said, but they can't, not just yet. Not with his daughter and mother still in the room, and her eyes plead with him to just wait until they are alone, until they can talk about this in private.

She isn't sure she even wants to talk about it, _ever_. Not a very healthy approach, but it's worked for her on numerous occasions. Sort of.

Yet she also knows Castle. He'll want to talk. He'll _need_ to talk. But for now, she pushes the thought back, wants nothing more than to postpone the inevitable, to buy herself some more time until she's not so raw, not hurting quite so much.

Her heart surges when she sees the change in his eyes, his gaze turning tender, understanding.

The clench in her chest eases and she realizes she can breathe again. She feels like weeping and yet, not right now. Later, perhaps. In the shower, when she's alone. When she can finally break in private.

"How are you feeling, Dad?" Alexis murmurs from Castle's side, breaking the moment. The girl looks so much younger now than she has lately, so much more like a child than a grown young woman.

Kate blinks, their eyes breaking their connection upon Alexis' words. Castle looks at his daughter, switching his focus back to his child, but at the same time he raises the hand that's been wrapped around Alexis, gropes a little in the air that lies behind his daughter's frame until his fingers finally find Kate. Ghosting over her hip, his fingers finally seek out her hand and curl around her palm as he silently intertwines their fingers and holds on to her, so very tight.

"I'm good, Pumpkin. Don't worry about me," he says, even as he winces when his daughter shifts at his side in order to gain a better viewing angle at him.

"We've been worried sick, dad." Says Alexis dryly. "I don't want you _ever_ to scare me like that again." She turns her head to Kate then, something fierce and defiant in her eye. "The _both_ of you, that goes for you too, Kate. Okay?"

Something warm spreads through Kate's chest, a feeling she hasn't felt for quite some time. She hold the redhead's eye for a moment before she breaks the contact, gives the girl a small nod as a small, shy smile breaks across her face, hoping beyond hope this to be a promise she'll be able to keep.

xxx

"Look at me. Please, just look at me, Kate."

She's got herself five more minutes with Castle. Five more minutes alone.

Well, surprisingly enough, it was Castle who asked his mother and daughter to give him and Kate a little privacy before they'd have to leave. Alexis wasn't too eager to leave her father's side, but Martha merely nodded, shooting a single and way too knowing look at the two of them before she kissed her son goodbye and gently hooked her arm around one of Alexis's, slowly pulling the girl out of the room.

So Kate's got five more minutes with him. And she's wasting them by burning a hole into the green linoleum under Castle's hospital bed.

"Kate." The urgent distress in his voice finally manages to break through her strange, depressive funk and she snaps her head up to finally look at him.

They are both here, relatively unscathed, whole and alive. So why is she wasting their time like this?

"I think we should talk about this."

"Which part?" she asks breathlessly. "The part where we got abducted by a gang of human and gun traffickers or the part where you got tortured for information I wasn't able to provide?" Her voice sounds brittle and hollow even to her own ears.

His eyes close upon her words, a painful, broken "_Kate_" escaping his lips.

She lowers her eyes, regrets her uncalled-for outburst. She doesn't want to be brittle. Doesn't want to sound furious and helpless and hurting, at least not to him. It's exactly the reason why she doesn't want to talk about this now. Or any day in the near future, but especially not right now. She's not prepared for it, is still too raw, too confused. Still too hurt to even start to dissect the whole disaster of today.

And besides, it should be the other way around. _He's_ the one who should be hurting and brittle, the one seeking help while she should be the one offering. But once again, it's all so screwed up and _he_ is the one to offer comfort even though it was _he_ who got tortured, he who should ask for comfort.

It merely reminds her how weak she is, what a huge failure and disappointment in dealing with mental issues. She doesn't have a problem with the physical. Physical pain she can handle, live with, even conquer. It's the mental issues that carry that special kind of pain she can't deal with.

How come he's so unaffected by what happened? Is he really that solid, that steady? Or is this just another mask, just another layer to him she doesn't yet know, doesn't understand?

The thought itself irritates and annoys her more than it should.

This is not what she must concentrate on right now. Not at all. So why is she? It's an endless loop where nothing makes sense.

She shakes her head like a dog, hopes it will help her to get rid of the disturbing thoughts.

"You okay?" Castle asks quietly, that concerned lilt back in his voice. It never left, actually.

She laughs. God help her, but she actually laughs, the irony of his being the one lying in the hospital bed and asking the question simply too much for her. But then she meets his eyes and the sound dies in her throat, all traces of her cynical humor gone in a flash.

It's suddenly all there, in his face, the fear, the terror, the pain, all the emotions he didn't dare to let himself feel until this point. Maybe he let the mask drop when his mother and daughter left and she noticed only now, or maybe he's reached the point where he can't maintain the bravado any longer, but he's laying it all bare for her to see and she is momentarily overwhelmed by the intensity.

"I was so scared," she whispers, both of her hands coming to grip one of his over the sheets.

"I know. I was too." He rests his other hand over hers, his palm surprisingly warm, its size easily covering and stilling her fidgety fingers.

She shakes her head. "No, not like that."

She can't say more, doesn't know how to put into words, the thing that she was really scared of in that rundown factory – the darkness of the abyss opening up from under her and swallowing her whole if anything happened to him. But it's all there in her eyes, the same way it's in his, and she hopes he understands, hopes that she won't have to spell it out for him, that crippling, selfish fear of having to survive another loss of a loved one in her life.

"I know," he repeats again, quieter this time. Her hands cradled in his palm, he uses his thumb to caress the soft skin there, runs gentle circles against the abused and broken skin. "But we're okay. We're alive, and we'll be okay."

She can hear the slight tremble in his voice, knows his words are for his own sake as well as hers. He can't know that, can't know what is yet to come, how much this will affect them once they leave the temporary sanctuary of the hospital, once their lives start to return to normal.

What they went through today might ambush them in the future, when they least expect it. She was shot. She already has PTSD. She knows this will only add to her problems, will throw her ten steps back in the progress she's made in the past year. But she knows progress is possible, knows that damage can be worked on, the broken parts glued together again. It's a lot of work, but it can be done.

It might not be as hard for him, yet it might not be as simple. It even might not be anything. He may be one of the few lucky ones to walk out of here tomorrow with nothing more than the physical evidence of the abuse that was done to him, without the huge emotional baggage hunched over his shoulders, dragging him down with each step. She wishes that for him, wishes that with all her heart.

No way of really knowing at this point. But maybe he's right. Maybe they'll just be okay.

"We'll be okay," she echoes, her voice surprisingly steady; she watches him nod somewhat unconvinced. "We always are."

And that's when the switch goes off, that's when they change places. Feeling her strength and confidence growing, Castle lets his own mask fall, and all that's left of the previously strong man is a scared little boy with surprisingly shiny eyes lying in the bed in front of her.

She surges forward, pulling both of her hands from underneath his so she can sneak them around his broken frame and pull him in for as tight an embrace as she dares.

The sound of his heart monitor spikes up and she can both hear as well as feel his heart beating frantically in his chest, finally giving in to everything it has been through, salty wetness hitting the skin of her neck.

She cradles his head against her shoulder, hushes sweet nothings into his ear as he claws at her desperately and not nearly close enough, and she knows, in that single moment, she knows it won't be so easy after all.

But even as she thinks this, the man she loves trembling in her embrace, she knows they can do this, dig through the issues, put in the work to return where they once were.

Because, despite everything that happened to them, they are still together.


End file.
